Wrong
by anxioussquirrel
Summary: Blaine gets really depressed in his senior year, with Kurt away in NY, and tries to take his own life. Heavy angst with a happy ending. WARNINGS: suicide attempt, depression, self-harm, vivid descriptions of blood.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Notes:** I haven't written true, heavy angst for a _long_ time, right? Well, here it is. This story _hurts_, so please, please make sure it won't trigger you. I don't do unhappy endings, but it will take time to find the sunshine.

This story is complete and ready to be posted daily except Thursdays, when I post _…for life_ instead. I haven't yet divided it all into chapters, so I'm not sure how many will be there – probably 15-20.

A big thank you to the one and only punkkitten3112 for scanning it over for me, and for everything else.

* * *

><p>1.<p>

Tina's kind, pretty face looks worried as she approaches Blaine after everyone else has already left the choir room in twos and threes, laughing and talking. He'd recently taken to waiting till everyone is gone, pretending to be busy looking through his bag or sending a text. It's easier this way, when he can avoid talking to people. That's what he wants, just not to be disturbed, shaken out of the silence inside. But today it won't work. Tina sits down on the chair facing him, touches his hand. It feels weird, to be touched. It's almost as if his skin forgot the feeling. But it's only been three months, it couldn't have. Could it?

"Blaine, what's going on with you?" Tina's voice is concerned, gentle. His throat tightens impossibly, but he fights it, his mask already on, brows raised questioningly. "And don't tell me it's fine. You weren't yourself out there. I've never seen you so... I don't know. It's like you didn't even try."

Blaine shrugs. The truth is, he _didn't_ try. Why would he? He didn't need a solo; he just wanted to be left alone. Two months ago he'd have jumped at the chance and flattened that freshman he competed with without even trying. Even last month he might have done his best and win what was rightfully his – he was honestly much better than the other boy, his voice deeper and clearer, his charisma natural. But today he just didn't care anymore.

"I just didn't like the song."

It's as good an answer as any, but Tina doesn't buy it. They are quite close, the shared experience of having boyfriends away in college naturally connecting, and it's not the only thing they have in common. But still, she's not the kind of friend Kurt had been from the very beginning. Blaine has nobody that close now.

"But Blaine, it's for Sectionals! You know as well as I do that Owen is good, but far from great. It's _you_ – your voice, your stage presence we need to win this. Especially when we're up against Vocal Adrenaline again this year. We need every asset we have, and you're one of our _best_ assets, Blaine!"

He shrugs again.

"Tell this to Mr. Schue. Singing background for every new member is apparently all I'm good for this semester." He gets up and takes his bag. "I have to go. See you tomorrow?"

Tina takes his hand once more, stopping him, her eyes uncertain.

"Blaine… Are you sure you're all right? I know it's hard without Kurt here. I get it, you know I do. Maybe we could go out together again? See if there's anything good at the movies?"

The forced smile hurts his face as he nods, the muscles out of practice.

"I'm fine, Tina. And sure, Friday?"

"Friday."

She lets him go, and as he walks to his car, the mask falls away, the numbness is back. The thought that Kurt would have realized, would have noticed his lie, sucks a little more color from the world.

* * *

><p>Blaine doesn't know when it started. Didn't notice it, really. Everything has been normal, day after day – school, Glee, homework, sleep. Sometimes, coffee or shopping with Tina. Talking with Kurt via Skype. Longing. Always longing.<p>

Nothing really happened. He hasn't been bullied or attacked. His grades are excellent as ever. He hasn't argued with his parents or anyone else. He's still well liked. Everything is fine. Maybe he'd become just a background voice in Glee, while Mr. Schue constantly gave solos to the new voices, most of them sophomores and juniors. Maybe his parents are even more absent, because "he's almost an adult now and can be trusted to take care of himself". Maybe Kurt has less time to talk and text lately. But these are details, nothing to lose sleep over.

So why did his world lose all its colors? And when did it happen? Have they bled out of his life little by little until nothing is left but drab grays? Everything looks like the November sky outside the kitchen window now. He has trouble remembering what it looked like in summer.

He's calmer, too. Quieter. Nothing moves him to the core lately, or makes him dance and laugh like crazy. Nothing really hurts, either, and it's good. No pain, no intense emotions. He's… numb.

He misses colors sometimes. Dreams of vivid blues and greens, and whites, of explosive splashes of yellows, oranges, reds. It's always after he talks with Kurt right before going to bed – in the morning, he wakes up longing for the colors. And then he forgets. It doesn't happen all that often anyway. At first, in August, they were talking every night. But life is busy, especially in college, he knows that. Two, sometimes three times a week is plenty.

He knows that the colors in his dreams – they are Kurt. His boyfriend is what makes his life vivid and lush, always has. And he'll do it again, when he comes home for Christmas. They've just been talking, Kurt called to say he wouldn't be in Lima for Thanksgiving, can't afford the plane ticket. It's fine. Christmas is close enough. They've planned plenty for then.

Dicing a tomato for a salad to go with the chicken he's frying for his solitary dinner, Blaine imagines all the things they'll get to do together once Kurt's here. Thinking of that beautiful smile and storm-colored eyes feels like warmth, like a rainbow. A whirlwind of colors and emotions, intensity and _life_. It envelops him, and suddenly Blaine doesn't feel alone and unimportant, and not good enough. It's breathtaking, remembering what it's like to feel, to see properly. To _live_. His breath hitches as he's flooded by a rapid wave of happy anticipation.

And then, just as fast, it's punched out of him.

Yes, he'll have ten days of this. But it's not a happy ending, not some kind of resolution that will save him from this purgatory. Kurt will be gone again, for more of the unbearable months. And Blaine will be back to just existing, step by step, every day worse than the last, no destination in sight, no reason to keep going. It feels like drowning now, gray waters of hopelessness flooding Blaine's lungs, his vision blurred by them, or maybe it's tears, he isn't sure. Something slips from his numb fingers and he looks at them in a daze. He's been doing something. Cutting, yes. The tomato. He needs to cut the tomato.

The knife is still in Blaine's right hand and he looks at it curiously, as if he's seeing it for the first time. It's sharp, all the knives in their kitchen are; his father takes care of that. Blaine raises it to eye level, the gleam of wet blade fascinating. Everything is dimmed and muted, only blood pounds in his ears insistently. Blood; vivid red of life, pulsing, oozing.

He doesn't really know when he does it; doesn't even feel it. He just knows that he's sitting on the floor now, his arms outstretched on his knees, staring at all the _red_ around, mesmerized. It's beautiful as it flows, intense, _alive_, real. He's missed the colors so much, and it turns out they were inside him all along, he just had to let them out. Because now he can see the other ones as they flash before his eyes. So beautiful. So overwhelming.

It's getting colder, but it's okay. The red will warm him up. It always does in his dreams.


	2. Chapter 2

2.

The phone rings just as the professor starts his lecture, earning Kurt an irritated glare. Apologizing, he fishes it out from his pocket, noticing _Dad_ flashing on the display before switching it off. He told his father he'd call him about his Christmas flight plans this evening, why does he have to be so impatient? Sighing, Kurt turns his mind back to the droning voice of the old man talking about the history of theater; professor Donnaby is known for his impossibly detailed exam questions – neglecting taking notes in his class is not an option.

By the time Kurt remembers about his phone, it's been over three hours. He's sitting in a campus coffeehouse with a bunch of other freshmen – relaxing after his last classes for the day, drinking excellent mocha and talking animatedly with his roommate, Danny, and his girlfriend Emily. It's amazing how much fun school can be when you're accepted and _liked_ for a change.

For the first time in his life Kurt is popular. His impeccable taste in fashion and all things aesthetic, undeniable musical talent and snarky wit are appreciated, not laughed at. Here at NYADA he found a group of friends – intelligent, talented people who like him for who he is, not in spite of it. They have most of their classes together and often meet for coffee afterwards. There's always someone to go shopping or sightseeing with – with so much to see in New York, even after three months Kurt spends his every free hour roaming the city. He's even had a boy from his class crush on him and he can't deny it's flattering, even if uncomfortable, because _come on_, he's _taken_.

Kurt is pulling out his phone to show a picture of Blaine to Emily when he realizes he's never called his dad back. Hell, he hasn't even switched his phone back on yet. Not that it's anything important, probably. All his father calls about recently is Christmas planning; Kurt suspects he just misses him. After all, they've never been apart for so long before.

Except… from the moment his phone lights up with a familiar picture of Blaine and him, it keeps beeping – 11 missed calls, all from his dad. The first tremors of anxiety shake Kurt's suddenly icy-cold hands and when he opens the first of two texts his father sent him, his heart rate rises sharply.

_Pick up, it's urgent_

The second one looks innocent, but scares him even more.

_Call me. Now._

Kurt's just about to press the call button when the phone lights up with an incoming call from his dad, and he picks up with trembling fingers. Around him, life goes on as if nothing happened – Danny and Emily are engaged in a friendly banter with Alexander, Kathy and Michelle are looking through a new issue of Vogue together, Victor's watching him again, trying to be subtle with his infatuation. Everything looks completely normal. But Kurt knows it isn't, that his world is about to change somehow, he just doesn't know how much yet. Something happened. Something bad.

The second between accepting the call and pressing the phone to his ear stretches impossibly, and Kurt's maneuvering his way out of the café, the bag on his shoulder, even as he asks breathlessly,

"Dad, what happened?"

The fact that his father doesn't even ask what took him so long speaks volumes of the state of his mind and _oh_, it must be _bad_. Kurt braces himself for the worst; is it Carole? Finn? The voice in the speaker is serious.

"Kurt, I think you should try to get on the earliest plane back here."

He's almost in a full panic by now, breath coming fast and shallow, legs feeling like jelly as he runs toward his dorm.

"Dad, what is it?"

"Blaine's in the hospital." And Kurt gasps; he hasn't even considered a blow from this direction. But it gets worse when his dad speaks on. "He tried to take his life."

* * *

><p>The earliest possible flight Kurt can get on isn't until 5 am, so he spends some of the longest hours of his life, pacing the small dorm room back and forth, crying, panicking and raging in turns, while Danny is being a good friend trying to get him to calm down and think rationally. Of course, Kurt knows he can't do anything more from here or speed up time, but nothing can turn down his mind, spinning with questions, memories and images.<p>

Blaine. His beloved, beautiful Blaine, always smiling, singing, so full of energy. Blaine wanted to kill himself. No, not just wanted. Tried. And Kurt knew _nothing_. He had _no idea_.

He's gathered all the information he could since the first conversation with his dad. As soon as he found the flight and bought the ticket with his "emergencies only" credit card, he called his father back and demanded to know everything. There wasn't much. Apparently, Mr. Schuester started the rehearsal today with news that they were one man down for Sectionals. Blaine's parents had called the school this morning to say that he was in the hospital after a suicide attempt. Of course, good old Schue considered it all right to reveal this to the students, so by tomorrow it would be a number one gossip. Kurt saw red just thinking about such indiscretion. How was Blaine supposed to go back there after something like this?

That is… if he comes back at all. If he's even _able_ to come back. The thought results in another bout of crying so heavy that Danny calls for reinforcements and soon Emily is there, hugging Kurt and not saying it would be all right, just letting him soak the shoulder of her sweater with tears. Because really, it may not be all right at all. He doesn't even know what Blaine did; how bad it was; how fast he was found and in what condition. He just knows he's alive. Or, he _was_, this morning.

When he called Tina earlier tonight, she was in tears. She tried to go see Blaine after school, driven by an overwhelming guilt that she hadn't seen it coming when she was _right there_, in classes and Glee with him, but they said it was family only. They wouldn't even tell her how he was, nothing. But she told Kurt one thing his father hadn't. It didn't _just_ happen. Not this morning or last night. Blaine did whatever he did on _Wednesday evening_. Two days ago. Two. Whole. Days. This was the last straw that broke Kurt entirely.

He spent the next hour on the floor in a fetal position, bawling. This was how Danny found him when he came back to their room. After a long while of trying – unsuccessfully – to get Kurt to calm down even the slightest bit, he went to his medicine cabinet and came back with some kind of pills, smelling strongly of valerian root. After a while, Kurt felt marginally calmer, enough to explain what happened and pack his bag. Danny was sincerely shocked and sympathetic, and has been trying his very best to help in every possible way since then, but Kurt knows he doesn't get it, not fully.

It's not just the fact that the boy he loves tried to commit suicide and Kurt doesn't even know if he's fine right now, at least physically, or maybe dying. As crushing as these facts alone are, they are only the beginning of Kurt's torment. Because on top of it, there's guilt.

Kurt is blaming himself for what happened. For never realizing that anything was wrong with Blaine. For having less and less time for him, skipping their Skype dates to go out with friends or to see a show. For forgetting to text him goodnight a handful of times. For not trying harder to make enough money at the coffeeshop to be able to go home for Thanksgiving after all.

Thanksgiving. The word alone makes him feel like throwing up. The last time he spoke with Blaine, Kurt told him he wouldn't come home then. Regretfully, but calmly, he informed his boyfriend that he'd have to wait another month to see him. And Blaine seemed all right with it, he was smiling and joking. They talked about Christmas, planned the time they'd get to spend together then. And Kurt should have known something was wrong, should have realized that such a reaction couldn't be genuine, that Blaine was pretending to be fine just to make him feel good. Because he wasn't fine. Because minutes or at most hours after this conversation, Blaine decided he didn't want to live anymore. Decided to die.


	3. Chapter 3

3.

How could he not have felt anything? Some kind of signal – anxiety, phantom pain, anything? Kurt always believed that with a love like theirs, he would know instantly if anything bad ever happened to Blaine, just like Blaine would know the same about him. That he would feel it, because the emotional connection between them was so strong it was almost like telepathy sometimes.

But he didn't. He didn't feel anything that Wednesday. After they'd ended their conversation, he changed and went to work. The afternoon and evening were uneventful. He felt calm and cheerful. He slept like a baby that night, with no memorable dreams. How was that possible when states away his love, his _soulmate_ felt bad enough to want to die? When he hurt himself with the intention to kill? When that night people probably fought to save his life?

This is the thing that Kurt keeps obsessing about all the way back to Columbus. It's as if his exhausted mind, unable to rest until he sees Blaine and knows that he's safe, clings to one chosen aspect of all this overwhelming mess, because it's just too much. With every mile bringing him closer to his boyfriend, Kurt keeps listening intently to every signal his mind might be giving him, reaching out, searching for some kind of feeling, some certainty in his heart that Blaine is alive. That he's fine.

He finds none.

Kurt's father is waiting for him at the airport and even though they missed each other like crazy, there's just a short, tight hug, and then they're on their way. His dad's presence gives Kurt reassurance – there's something about having him close that conveys that warm feeling of _everything will be fine, I'm here_. It reminds Kurt of childhood, of times when he used to believe that parents were almighty, that they could make everything in the whole world all right. How he'd love to still believe that.

Kurt's out of the car as soon as they stop in front of the hospital, running inside and to the reception desk.

"Blaine Anderson – he was brought here on Wednesday. Where will I find him?"

The receptionist looks at him coolly and for the first time in ages Kurt doesn't even care that he must be a mess. He looks at her pleadingly because surely his heart will explode if he has to wait for news a minute longer. Finally, she taps a few buttons and asks.

"Are you family?"

"No, but-"

"Then I'm sorry, I can't give you any information."

"But I'm his _boyfriend_!"

"Sorry."

He tries to appeal to her – even resorts to begging – but it's a lost case. Kurt drops onto a nearby chair and finally gives in to desperate tears that have been threatening him all the way here, just as his father enters the reception area after having parked the car.

There's no hope left, no way to learn anything. Blaine's phone is switched off since Kurt first tried it last night, and so is his mother's. There's no one answering the landline at the Andersons' house. Kurt feels like he's dying, drowning under a tsunami of despair. By the desk, his dad is speaking with the receptionist, but Kurt doesn't understand a word over the painful squeeze in his chest and loud pounding of his heart. He feels dizzy, can't get enough air despite gasping desperately for it. He hears a dull thump and vaguely realizes his head collided with something hard, before blacking out.

* * *

><p>When he comes to, he's lying in a small white room. His body feels weak, his head heavy, but it takes him only a moment to remember where he is and why. He sits up with a gasp and regrets it immediately as a spell of dizziness hits him. But it doesn't matter – he can't lose time here, he needs to find a way to –<p>

"Welcome back, Kurt." The doctor who enters the room – some sort of an examination room, he can see now – can't be more than twenty-five. He's smiling. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine, I'm fine. Just a little dizzy. What happened?"

"You passed out. When was the last time you ate? Your blood sugar is very low. I sent your dad to bring you juice and a sandwich."

Kurt has to think for a moment to remember. He skipped lunch yesterday and was going to eat a proper dinner, but then the phone call came and eating hasn't been too high on his priority list since then.

"Um, yesterday morning, I think."

"Okay, you're not leaving this room until you eat and drink what your father brings you. You look exhausted too. And stressed, judging by that panic attack in the reception area. That's why you hyperventilated and passed out. Go home and get some rest. That's a doctor's order."

The man smiles and winks, but then startles, seeing the tears starting to run down Kurt's cheeks again.

"I… I can't." The words are choked out as Kurt tries to suppress the sobs, feeling helpless and defeated. "I have to know – I need to at least know if he's alive."

He loses the battle and his shoulders shake violently as he cries harder. The doctor sits on the edge of the examination table, his face concerned.

"If who's alive?"

"B-b-blaine. My boyfriend." Just saying the name _hurts_ and Kurt wraps his arms around his middle. "No one will tell me anything, because I'm not family, and his phone's off, and his mom's too and – "

The man holds up his hand.

"Wait. Okay, calm down. Tell me more. Maybe I'll be able to help somehow. You came here to see your boyfriend?"

Kurt takes a deep, shuddering breath.

"Yes. I only learned that he was here yesterday and I flew from New York just now, but – "

"Easy – breathe slow or you'll hyperventilate again. Do you know when he was admitted and why?"

"Wednesday. S-suicide attempt. That's all I know."

He's crying harder again, so he doesn't notice a flash in the doctor's eyes. But something in his voice as he speaks makes Kurt look up.

"What's your boyfriend's name?"

"Blaine Anderson."

"All right, Kurt. Tell you what. I shouldn't disclose anything, but… I've just been upstairs a moment ago and Blaine was one of the patients I visited."

Kurt gasps, a flow of relief taking his breath away.

"So he's – "

"Alive, yes. And out of danger now. That's all I can tell you. But his mother's there with him. I could ask her to come talk to you if you want."

Kurt could hug the doctor now.

"Yes! Please. If you could. I'd be really, _really _grateful. I mean, I already am. Thank you. The uncertainty was killing me."

"Well, as a doctor, I couldn't allow that, could I?" The man smiles gently and gets up, clipboard in hand, right as Kurt's dad enters the room. "Okay. Eat, drink your juice and wait here."


	4. Chapter 4

4.

Mrs. Anderson's never really had a problem with Kurt. She may be a workaholic and often absent from Blaine's life, but unlike her husband, she's fine with him being gay and having a boyfriend. Whenever they spoke in the past, she's always been nothing but nice towards Kurt. That's what he doesn't understand now, what he's been wondering since his dad's call yesterday – why the hell didn't _she _contact him in the first place? Why did he have to learn this way – through a complicated chain of Mr. Schue, Tina, and his father, and why so late?

That's the first question he asks her when she enters the small room, looking pale and exhausted, her eyes bloodshot. It sounds like an accusation, tumbling from his lips, and maybe that's exactly what it is. Blaine could have _died_ during those two days before Kurt learned what happened, and he wouldn't have known. It makes Kurt so angry that he wants to scream. But he doesn't; instead, he just asks, incredulous.

"Why? Why didn't you call me as soon as it happened?"

She looks at him as if she saw a ghost, her face becoming tense and weary quickly.

"Kurt. What are you doing here?"

"I flew from New York as soon as I heard Blaine's here, of course; what else could I be doing here?"

He doesn't realize he's raising his voice until his dad lays a calming hand on his forearm. Blaine's mom looks confused.

"Wait, but… Didn't you two break up?"

"What – ?"

Kurt's so shocked - and terrified, frankly – that he starts hyperventilating again, tightness in his chest returning. He makes conscious effort to calm his breathing down – passing out again is out of the question. Mrs. Anderson looks at him with widening eyes, her hand jumping up to cover her mouth.

"Oh god, you didn't… I assumed… We thought… God, I'm sorry, Kurt. I'm _so_ sorry. We assumed that's why he did this. He's been talking about you so little recently, and getting sad so often… I thought you two had trouble because of the distance, that you broke up. And Blaine didn't leave any note, didn't say anything, so it seemed to be the most logical explanation and… I'm sorry, you must be worried sick!"

She slides down to sit on a chair and Kurt doesn't have it in him to hold a grudge. He just needs to know at last – how bad it all is, what actually happened.

"How is he? What did he do? Is it going to be all right? Please, tell me. I just know that he tried to… tried…"

He can't say the words, they keep getting stuck in his throat, choking him, but she nods.

"Blaine, he… He cut. His wrists. It was bad for a while; if he'd been found a couple of minutes later, it would have been too late. It looks like he didn't plan it, he must have been in the middle of making dinner, because the pan was still on the stove. The fire alarm went off and when firefighters arrived, they found him in a… a pool of blood on the floor." Her voice breaks on the last words as she starts crying, but goes on. "He should be fine in a couple of days, physically, although there may be some damage to the nerves in his hand, we won't know until later. But mentally… he won't talk, Kurt. He refuses to talk about any of this, just says that he's sorry. He's still under suicide watch now."

"Can I see him?" Kurt asks, breathless, because now that he finally knows, he needs this so much it hurts. His instinct is to help, soothe, make it better, even though – or maybe especially since – he blames himself in the first place. His heart feels like it's ripping out of his chest in its pull to go to the boy he loves. Mrs. Anderson nods.

"Of course. Just… it looks bad, Kurt. Scary. You need to know this."

"I don't care."

"You will when you see. But sure, come with me. I'll tell the nurses there you're allowed to visit."

* * *

><p>It does looks bad. It looks terrifying.<p>

Kurt thought he was prepared. He _expected_ to see the bandages around Blaine's wrists and the IVs dripping meds or blood into his boyfriend's veins. What he didn't expect was the heart monitor beeping quietly, steadily in the corner by the bed. Or Blaine's paper-white, almost translucent skin and deep, dark shadows under his closed eyes. And he definitely didn't imagine that he'd be _strapped to the bed_ ("They can't do the actual non-stop watch here, so it's a way of making sure he won't hurt himself again while checking on him every hour", Blaine's mom explains quickly).

The whimper that escapes Kurt's mouth can only be contained by biting on his lip, so hard he can immediately feel the coppery taste of blood on his tongue. He sways a little, overwhelmed by shock and emotions, and Mrs. Anderson lays a steadying hand on his shoulder.

"Are you all right? Still sure you want to do this?"

Kurt nods fervently. "Yes, I was just… Yeah, I'll be fine. Can I – "

"Of course. Go in. He's exhausted and weak because of the blood loss, so he's still sliding in and out of consciousness, but they say it's normal at this point. Go, sit with him if you want to, I'll talk to the nurses and go grab a coffee in the cafeteria if you don't mind."

"Of course I don't."

Kurt's actually deeply thankful for the chance to be alone with Blaine for a moment, and he suspects she knows it. He needs to re-center himself somehow, to get his grip before Blaine wakes up. Seeing Kurt so freaked out would be anything but good for him. It's enough that he'll see him pale, exhausted and in a rare state of complete mess. Kurt looked at himself in the elevator mirror on the way here. It wasn't a pretty sight.

It takes him good ten minutes and three mini-breakdowns before he feels like he has any semblance of control over his emotions. Blaine's still asleep, but every glance at his drawn face or his beautiful, strong hands, now all bruised from the needles, hurts like a knife stab. Kurt doesn't mind the pain – that's what he deserves. It's all his fault. And to think that he was getting mad at Blaine on Thursday evening for not answering his calls or texts. He wants to kick himself now. For this, and so many other things.

Blaine stirs beside him, his eyes opening slowly, and Kurt tries with all his might to find even a shadow of a smile to summon on his face. He has no idea if he succeeds because the next second Blaine's eyes widen and Kurt is drowning in the amber depths like he always does, except more, because everything about Blaine is _more _now, after over twelve hours of not knowing if he's dead or alive.

Kurt touches the bruised hand gently, curls his fingers to hold it delicately like he would a baby bird fallen from the nest, and doesn't even try to stop the tears that sting his eyes.

"Blaine." He wants to say so much more – how scared he was, how terrified to lose him. How happy he is that Blaine's alive, that he failed at this particular thing when he usually succeeds at everything he tries. He wants to tell him how much he loves him; beg Blaine never to do this again. Most of all, he wants to apologize, again and again, for being a bad boyfriend, and beg for forgiveness even though he doesn't deserve it. He can't, though. Words won't squeeze through his tightened throat.

Kurt doesn't know what reaction he expected from Blaine. Relief? Anger? Blame? Whatever it was, he's sure it was nothing like he gets now. A world of pain in Blaine's eyes. His hand moving away from Kurt's. His voice, rough and barely audible. "Kurt. I'm so sorry."

Mrs. Anderson appears in the doorway just as Blaine closes his eyes, turns his head away from Kurt and speaks, quiet but clear. "Please, go. I can't talk to you. Go."


	5. Chapter 5

5.

Blaine keeps his eyes shut, his mouth mute and his hand as far away as the straps allow for the minute or so while Kurt's stunned pleading turns into silence. He almost breaks when he hears the choked _I love you_ filled with tears that he promised himself once he'd never be the cause of. Still, he holds on, even as something inside him dies a little bit more. He waits for the footsteps, and they finally come, stumbling at first, hesitant, and then quickening into a run as they move further away. He can hear a stifled sob, so painful in its familiarity, and his mother calling out after Kurt, following him to offer the comfort Blaine should be able to give.

Which he can't give anymore. He lost this privilege the minute he took that knife to his veins.

As soon as Blaine regained consciousness enough to realize what he'd done, enough to think clearly, he knew. He'd finally screwed up like he'd been sure he would, eventually. He'd moved behind the point of no return. Well, congratulations.

He'd always known, ever since he was a child, that there was something wrong with him, something small, invisible, that made him faulty, deficient, not good enough. Never good enough. But there was a stubborn part of him that didn't give in to that, hope that kept growing in the cracks and refused to die. And when it started to wither at last, under cruel words and vicious blows, and then a uniform that promised safety but took away most of what made him himself – there came Kurt with his enormous faith in Blaine, with his care, his friendship, his love. He came and saved him.

With Kurt, hope grew and bloomed. With Kurt, Blaine finally felt good enough, just right. When they were together, he could start to accept who he was and to believe that he was special, not wrong. Kurt made everything brighter and more colorful; made Blaine feel more alive than ever. He didn't solve Blaine's problems; he gave him strength to face them himself.

And then Kurt was gone, and with time that strength began to waver. Criticism cut deeper, ignorance hit harder. The world was darker. But if Blaine thought that what he felt before was bad, well… He wishes he could get to that boy cutting a tomato in an empty kitchen and tell him it wasn't bad at all. It was hard and numbing and painful. But it was infinitely better compared to where Blaine is now. Because there was still hope then, still an end to that ordeal in sight – endless months away, but there. Now he can't lie to himself any longer, feed the hope when he knows it's fake and unfounded. He _is_ wrong and weak and not good enough. He _is _screwed up.

He's never considered suicide. Honestly, he believed that it's choosing an easy way out, the road only the weak take; that there's always, _always_ some other, better way. That he'd rather live a minute at a time, fight day after day, no matter the situation, than kill himself, because there's always hope.

Well, so much for that. He's never _considered_ it. He just did it, without planning to or even stopping for half a minute and thinking what it would do to Kurt, to his family and friends.

He failed everyone. He's a _failure_ – weak and untrustworthy, selfish, a coward. Just like his father never said aloud, but always implied. Just like nearly everyone at his middle school and his first high school told him all too often. He should do everyone a favor and go kill himself, they said. Surprise, he tried. He failed at that too. He'll never do it again.

Blaine saw Kurt's eyes today; saw the exhaustion, the worry, the pain; dark shadows etched deep into suddenly too pale skin; his trembling hands. He could never do this again to the boy he loves more than he's ever loved anything or anyone else. He's hoped stupidly that Kurt would never know what he did, that somehow he'd never hear about it. But he did, of course, and he came to see him even though he couldn't afford it, and it would be so easy and so wonderful to just hide in Kurt's arms and believe he's safe.

But that's just it. Blaine had time to think about it and he knows without a doubt that he can't do this. Because if he does, he won't be able to stop himself. He'll break down and sob, and tell Kurt how much he loves him, again and again. He'll beg him to stay and help him. And Blaine loves Kurt too much to ruin his life.

Kurt deserves everything that is best in this world. A wonderful college experience like he's been having the last three months, new friends, a career, fame and happiness. And a perfect relationship with someone who will love him, worship him and make him happy every day; someone strong and courageous and perfect. Someone who deserves to be with Kurt. Someone who isn't a screw-up, a failure, all wrong.

Someone who isn't Blaine.

* * *

><p>Kurt feels numb, empty. It's unreal, Blaine's hand moving away from his, Blaine's words. <em>Go. Please, go.<em> It's like a bad dream, all of this, and he desperately wants to wake up, but he just feels detached instead, watching himself pleading with Blaine, _begging_ him to talk, to even look at Kurt. When he finally gives up and leaves, it's because he can't hold the sobs in any longer and he doesn't want to break down here, he just needs to escape, hide somewhere, run. He can hear Mrs. Anderson call after him, and she manages to catch up and pull him into an awkward hug, insisting that Blaine's like this with everyone since he woke up, that it's not personal. But it doesn't help, doesn't help at all, because Kurt's not everyone. He should be the one able to help, _allowed_ to help, isn't this the way being with someone works? Instead, he's just another person bothering Blaine, and if this isn't the proof of this being Kurt's fault, he doesn't know what is.

He bids goodbye to Mrs. Anderson as soon as he possibly can and walks away, back downstairs. He wants to run, but his body doesn't cooperate, weak and leaden. His dad is pacing the reception area, anxious, and grabs him as soon as he appears, closing him in a bear hug, tight and so full of affection that tears spring out again. Kurt leans heavily into the embrace, desperately wanting to be a child again, carefree and safe. Except he's not. There's no escaping this.

On their way home he tells his father everything, words broken and small in his mouth when he describes Blaine's reaction, and he's just so tired all of a sudden, so, so exhausted he doesn't even register any response, isn't sure if there was any. He just knows there's a steady arm around him, helping him out of the car and up the stairs, pulling at his boots and coat, and then there's blissful oblivion, dark forgiveness of sleep.

Kurt wakes up at 4 am, groggy and disoriented after sleeping so long. He's still in his clothes, feeling sweaty and gross, and a shower seems like an excellent idea. Except then Kurt glances at his face in the bathroom mirror, puffy and sleep-lined, and the misery lingering deep in his eyes reminds him why he's here in the first place – and yes, shower is great, it muffles everything while he sobs and bawls his heart out for what seems like hours.

Afterwards, he lies sprawled on his bed, fully awake but lost deep in thought, until he hears Carole singing in the kitchen. He knows he still looks like shit when he heads down after eight, but at least he has a plan ready. No matter how much he blames himself and how hard Blaine pushes him away, he's here now, even if it's just for a couple of days. And unless he's absolutely certain that Blaine doesn't want him anymore, he'll be where he's supposed to be, which is by his boyfriend's side. And if it really is the end of their relationship – well, then he'll be by his best friend's side instead. It's the least he can do for the boy he loves.


	6. Chapter 6

6.

This morning, Kurt has no problem getting to Blaine's room; he already knows where it is and he's on the list of people allowed in – a very exclusive list, consisting only of three names. When he opens the door, hesitant, he's relieved to see the straps have been removed. The heart monitor is also off and there's only a single IV stand by the bed where Blaine's curled on his side, his back to the door. He looks so small like this, something vulnerable in the set of his back and shoulders, and Kurt's heart aches. He slides in quietly, in case Blaine's asleep, but when he reaches the chair by the other side of the bed, the amber eyes are open and staring at a wall.

He yearns to sit on the edge of the bed, lean in and kiss Blaine's forehead, his cheek, his lips, but he's not sure if he's allowed to do this – if Blaine would let him. He's not sure of so many things, these days. But he doesn't want to just sit on a chair across from the bed, like an awkward guest with good wishes and a secret desire to get out of here as soon as he can. That's not him. He _wants_ to be here, as long as he can, by this silent boy with sad eyes that used to shine and sparkle as he laughed, jumped on furniture and danced with boundless energy.

So Kurt compromises, pulling the chair as close to the bed as possible, so that his head is level with Blaine's and their hands only inches apart. Blaine's lips, dry and cracked, are so close, and Kurt feels the pull of longing; it's been so long since they last kissed, saying goodbye in front of Kurt's house, never suspecting the circumstances of their next meeting would be like this. Blaine's eyes move to look at him, and for a moment they both just stay silent, unmoving – greenish gray locked on amber. There's such an ocean of pain, sadness and loneliness in Blaine's eyes that Kurt's heart breaks in the silence, even though he thought there was nothing more left to break. And there's resignation there, too, which terrifies him more than anything.

After a long while Blaine speaks hoarsely.

"Hi."

"Hi. I see they gave you some more freedom today?" Kurt answers softly. Another thing he's not sure of – are there things he shouldn't talk about now? Is he allowed to joke? Damn, he just feels so lost.

Blaine shrugs.

"72 hour watch is over. Now they can pretend to trust me not to try and kill myself again."

The way he says this makes Kurt's blood freeze – it's level and monotonous, like he was talking about yesterday's weather.

"Will you?" The question is out before he can censor himself.

"No." Blaine's eyes are focused now, earnest. "I won't. I'm sorry, Kurt. I never wanted to hurt you."

"But you wanted to hurt yourself?"

"I… I don't –" Blaine's face crumples and he closes his eyes. "Please, let's not talk about this. I'm just so tired."

"Okay, baby. Okay."

Except there's not much they can safely talk about, it turns out. Every topic is somewhat awkward – New York and Kurt's college stories, McKinley, Glee, friends. Talking about feelings and their relationship here, now, seems terribly out of place so they don't even try. Blaine mostly pretends to sleep while Kurt mostly pretends to believe he does, and they talk just a little, about neutral, unimportant things, but at some point their hands end up together and that's enough. Mrs. Anderson comes around noon, adding a bit of warm chaos to the room, but seeing that her son is in good hands, she leaves soon, promising to come back in the evening.

Blaine seems to be genuinely asleep when Kurt has to go in the afternoon to join his family for dinner, so he dares to press a soft kiss to his boyfriend's forehead before he whispers "I love you" and leaves.

Dinner is a somber occasion, even though Kurt is happy to be with his family. They talk and exchange news, and it's all very nice and warm, but Kurt can't stop thinking about Blaine, alone in his hospital bed, with that awful look of resignation and defeat in his eyes.

* * *

><p>Blaine wakes up alone in a darkening room and it feels like such a metaphor for his whole life that his heart seems to stop for a beat, strung out and aching, before it returns to its normal rhythm; counting out seconds from that moment four days ago when it was so close to stopping. The moment when Blaine screwed up so badly that his life will never be the same again. Which wouldn't be that bad, really, if it didn't mean losing Kurt forever.<p>

Kurt, who was right there when Blaine fell asleep, his sure, warm hand like a lifeline and his silent presence the best support Blaine could wish for. And now he's gone and won't be back until Christmas, and Blaine didn't even get a chance to say goodbye, because his stupid body is still too weak to stay awake all day.

He eyes his phone, which his mom has recharged for him and placed on the bedside table last night, within his reach. He could try to text Kurt, even though his right thumb is still a bit uncooperative with possible nerve damage from the cut. He could even call him, to tell him… what exactly? He can't string a coherent sentence even in his head, so he gives up. No, it's better this way. It has to be, but he still feels like crying. He _needs _Kurt. Needs him so damn much. But he can't allow himself to act on it.

Blaine's mom drops by, distracting him from the wallowing for a while, but the regret and disappointment are still there like a persistent toothache. He loves his mom and appreciates that she takes time out of her busy professional life for him, even though the worst is over already, but right now, her pointedly cheerful monologue is grating on his nerves. When she leaves, he can finally collapse and curl on himself, around his pain, and cry.

He cries like he hardly remembers crying before, perhaps ever, because he's supposed to be mature and reasonable and responsible, but in the core of it all he's really just a scared boy. He knows what needs to be done and what he is, but the truth – the painful truth that he dares to admit to himself only in the dead of this lonely night – is that he wants, so desperately _needs_, to be taken care of. Loved. Helped. Guided to safety, to a place where he can just _be_.

And he cries like a baby now, weeps and sobs and bawls into his pillow over the fact that he's not allowed this, he doesn't deserve Kurt's love and care anymore. He's grieving the unbelievable loss that hasn't even happened yet, but in his heart it unavoidably will.

A nurse comes in some time during the night, her hand cool and soft on his forehead, and she asks him if he wants something for sleep. And he manages to choke out that _no, it's okay, he needs this_, so she nods and leaves him to his grief. He really _does _need this, the chance to say goodbye to his plans and dreams, because as much as he hopes to have Kurt's friendship in his life forever, he knows he isn't allowed to take anything more. Won't allow himself to.

Kurt deserves a happy life. And with a screw-up like Blaine chained to him, he won't have much of a chance for this. So Blaine will release him. Starting tomorrow.

Gray November dawn is peeking through the window when Blaine finally manages to fall asleep, miserable and exhausted, secretly hoping not to wake up again.

* * *

><p>He does wake up, however; it's a long, slow process of returning to consciousness and the reality he doesn't want, not yet at least, because he feels warm and safe here for once. But it's inevitable, his mind is pulling towards awareness and there's no stopping it. Except even when there's nothing but his eyelids between him and the real world, it still feels better than it has in months. It takes a moment for his tired brain to catalogue the sensations and realize why. When he does, however, he wonders if he's really awake.<p>

There's a warm, solid body pressed against him from behind, comforting even through the blankets. An arm is slung around Blaine's waist, hand resting right over his heart. In the silence of the hospital room he can hear someone else's breath in rhythm with his own, but it's the scent that confirms his suspicions. Warm, a little spicy, a little exotic, and so, _so _familiar that Blaine finally dares to open his eyes.

"Kurt?" His throat is raw from crying and his eyes so puffy they're more like slits, but he manages to rasp out the question right as he looks down and recognizes the hand on his chest. He knows this hand as well as he knows his own. He'd held and touched it thousands of times, kissed it, had it stroke and caress him, and done things to him he'll never, ever forget. But how…?

"I'm here." Kurt's voice is unmistakable, right by Blaine's ear, so close he can feel a puff of air touch the tiny hairs on his neck. He turns in the embrace, half-afraid that he's imagining things, but no, Kurt's right there, with his everchanging eyes, his porcelain skin, hair a carefully styled mess. He's so beautiful and so close that Blaine's breath hitches.

"But… it's Monday. Shouldn't you be back in New York?"

Kurt smiles softly.

"Did you think I would leave without saying goodbye? I wanted to stay with you a little longer. And I can afford to miss today's classes. I have to fly back tonight, though."

A bit of warmth spreads inside Blaine's chest. He knows that he should pull away from the embrace, put some distance between them if he's to do what he has to. But he feels so weak after this night, so vulnerable… _Just today, just one more day_, whispers a selfish voice in his mind. _Just a goodbye_. Then Kurt will be gone and he'll have time to get used to being alone again, for good this time. The prolonged silence is becoming awkward, so Blaine blurts out.

"Why are you up here, on the bed? Not that I mind, but…"

Kurt's eyes are worried now, sad, and Blaine can see the dark circles are still there.

"You were crying in your sleep. I tried to wake you, because it obviously wasn't a good dream, but it didn't work, so I climbed up here to see if holding you would help, and it did. Blaine… Please. I don't know what is wrong, but can I help you somehow? Please, let me help you. I love you so much, and it breaks my heart to see you in pain, but I don't know what to do, you need to tell me…"

Tears are stinging Blaine's eyes again, and he's really close to saying "Stay with me, don't ever go", so he bites his tongue and just shakes his head. Kurt's arm tightens around him and there's fear in his eyes as he speaks rapidly, anxiously.

"But… But are you even getting any help? You're not just going back to school when you get out of here, as if nothing happened, are you?"

Blaine recalls his mom's monologue from last night, the part he hasn't been able to process yet, and he shrugs.

"No. As soon as they let me out of here, in a day or two, my parents are taking me to a private mental hospital for a week. They're supposed to evaluate and diagnose me there, and decide on some kind of therapy, I don't know. So I guess I will have help?" Blaine hates how weak it sounds.

"Can I at least call you every day?" Kurt's voice is shaking and he looks like he's going to cry. Blaine knows that he doesn't deserve all this care, but oh, how grateful he is for it anyway.

"Not when I'm there, apparently there's a rule against outside contact. But I'll let you know when I'm out?"

"You promise?"

"I promise."

They stay like this, lying together, for hours – not really touching, but close. They talk a little, but mostly stay silent, just taking comfort from each other's presence, breathing the same air. Blaine feels like it would be perfect if only it wasn't their last time like this. Still, he takes in as much as he can, if only to remember it later.

When it's time to go, Kurt hesitates briefly before leaning in to kiss Blaine on the lips. The kiss is soft and chaste, and tastes like a goodbye.


	7. Chapter 7

7.

Kurt boards the plane with a heavy heart that evening, everything pulling at him to stop, to stay instead. Knowing that he can't really do anything for Blaine now doesn't change this, and neither does the deeply ingrained sense of responsibility that tells him he needs to be back at school tomorrow. Being a responsible almost-adult sucks sometimes, he concludes bitterly.

He spends the entirety of his flight deep in thought, with his earbuds in and his eyes closed. Between spending time with Blaine and his own family, all the while trying to keep it all together, he didn't really get much chance to just sit and process things. There's a lot to process, so much that Kurt feels like he's going to lose himself in all the emotions, images and reflections if he doesn't get to organize it all in his head soon. And he can't afford to break down, he needs to be strong if he's to have a chance to help Blaine.

Because one thing is certain: something is very, very wrong. Blaine is… changed. So different. It's hard for Kurt to wrap his mind around it, there's so much. Blaine's reluctance to talk, to be touched; he has walls built around him that are taller than he is. Kurt has never seen him so defensive before, so closed up. And the fact that Blaine didn't open up even for him is scaring Kurt more than anything.

If he wanted an easy explanation, he could conclude that Blaine is just angry or disappointed with him for being neglected lately, but Kurt knows it's so much more than this. The look of resignation in Blaine's eyes went much deeper. Something is seriously wrong and Kurt feels out of his depth, helpless. He just hopes that the specialists in the hospital will know what to do, that they'll find the problem and the best course of action. Until then, Kurt can do nothing.

Well, no. He can do one thing.

* * *

><p>For the next week Kurt barely sleeps and spends every waking hour that isn't taken by classes at his coffee house job. His friends know the situation and support him wholeheartedly, even if right now supporting means giving him space and making sure he eats and sleeps at all. Because while Kurt couldn't have promised Blaine that they'd get to meet again before Christmas, he will do anything he can to be able to go home for Thanksgiving anyway; and this means earning enough to buy plane tickets. There's still time, and if Kurt keeps working ten, sometimes twelve hours a day, there's a chance he'll have enough money by then.<p>

And he needs a distraction anyway. He has no way of contacting Blaine while he's at the mental hospital – until the next Monday, hopefully not longer, as Mrs. Anderson texted him. And having too much time to think when he's anxious, scared and miserable like this is a recipe for certain trouble. Kurt knows all too well how prone to overthinking and overanalyzing he is when stressed, which often leads to wrong assumptions and worrying himself sick over things that later turn out untrue. So instead, he works until he can barely stand and his eyes droop from exhaustion. There's an additional bonus – at night he dreams about endless cups of coffee and not Blaine's unnaturally pale face and his beautiful hands strapped to the bed, or worse, all bloody and lifeless on a white tiled floor.

On Monday evening, just as Kurt is walking back to his dorm, his feet killing him after hours of work, the phone vibrates in his pocket. Blaine – at last. For the brief second before pressing the answer button, Kurt hopes against hope that he'll hear the well known warm, cheerful voice again; that everything is fine already. But it's not, of course. How could it be, after merely a week? Blaine sounds sad and tired, and Kurt's heart clenches with an ache to be there for him.

The call is short, just to share the news: Blaine's out of the hospital and diagnosed with depression. He's going to have therapy three times a week for now and if it doesn't work, they may consider medication later. And he's not going back to school yet, not until he's better, more stable – at least not till after New Year's.

Kurt wants to reach through the phone and hug Blaine, envelop him in love and care, and never let go. But he still isn't sure how to talk to him, or what not to talk about, so he just asks what bothers him most.

"Are you alright though? At least… relatively?"

There's a second of silence that makes Kurt's throat tighten in fear, but then Blaine speaks, his voice dull, monotonous.

"I think so. Just really tired. It was a hard week, I need to sleep it off."

"Can I text you in the morning? And call you later tomorrow?"

"Sure." There's no enthusiasm in Blaine's voice, but Kurt pushes down the fear that tries to choke him. Blaine's exhausted. That's just it.

* * *

><p>As November days slowly – too slowly – tick closer to Thanksgiving, Kurt keeps up his insane work schedule. He can't let it go, not so close to his goal – he'll rest later, in Lima. Sleep becomes a decadent treat, decent meals a waste of time. He knows he can't keep it up for long, but just a bit more. Just until he has enough money to buy the tickets, then he'll make it up to his body, take better care of himself. Not yet.<p>

But there are two things he never neglects – his classes and Blaine. Calling Blaine, texting Blaine multiple times every day. Just keeping in contact. Making sure Blaine knows that he's loved and important. But every conversation and exchange of texts seems flat somehow. Missing something. Missing that spark of life that's always been there, bright and vivacious.

Kurt can't wait to go home.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: **_I know you're all waiting for Blaine to get better, because it's heartbreaking to see our boys hurting like this. But as I wrote before, this is a dark, painful story – a story about depression, about being lost and broken and shattered, in a place of no more hope, and about surviving in spite of it. There's no quick comfort here, I'm sorry. Everything hurts and breaks, and things get worse before they get better. _

_Yes, they _will_ get better, but not for a long time still – there are 23 chapters here and except for little glimpses along the way, the sun doesn't really come out until close to the end. So please, if it's too hard for you, don't feel forced to read on. I won't be offended :) I appreciate each and every one of you, but I know that this story _hurts_._

_Okay, stuffies and hug buddies at the ready?_

* * *

><p>8.<p>

Blaine didn't expect anything pleasant from the week at the mental hospital; he saw it as something to survive and promptly forget about, just like that time he had his tonsils taken out. But it turns out to be much more of a challenge. Right from the first day – the Tuesday after Kurt went back to New York – he dislikes the place; the feeling intensifying by the hour.

It's not a big hospital, and the diagnostic ward where he's placed is small and has an air of forced coziness. There are only about twenty patients there right now, but there's absolutely no privacy or silence, two things that Blaine feels he needs like air. Instead, he's made to interact with others, talk to people and take part in group activities. His initial interview with the lead psychiatrist is scheduled for tomorrow; this first day is supposed to be the time for him to get settled and comfortable with the surroundings.

He's far from comfortable, though. By bedtime – which is ridiculously early for him at 9.30 – he's tense and on edge, wanting nothing more than just to go home, to his room; hell, anywhere where he can close the door and sit in silence, do nothing. He feels weak and exhausted, his body still recuperating after the shock of losing so much blood, but when he lies down, the bed unfamiliar and too soft, his spinning mind won't shut up. He lies in the not-quite-darkness of the dimly lit single room, frustrated and wide awake. It feels like hours pass sleeplessly, and every thought in Blaine's head seems to mock him with memories of Kurt – his face, his words and touches, their time together. When a nurse comes in to check on him, he asks to be given something for sleep.

The relief of the small white pill is fast and wonderful, bringing deep sleep with no dreams, but once Blaine gets awakened for a morning meditation and breakfast, he regrets ever asking for it. His brain feels strange and different, every thought and sensation is fuzzy around the edges, unclear. It's like his mind is muddled and still half asleep, and his usual clarity of thought and coherence of speech is somehow impaired. It's strange and unsettling, and doesn't pass until late in the afternoon, which means Blaine goes for his interview and psychiatric evaluation at noon still in a fog of slight confusion.

Which is probably the main reason for the way it goes. Because Blaine came here open to the promise of help he was offered. He didn't believe anyone _could_ really help him, not when he was obviously just faulty and damaged on some deep, basic level, but he _would_ allow them to try, would do his best to cooperate and not hide anything.

Except when the psychiatrist – a middle-aged, unsmiling woman – looks up from Blaine's file and asks him what led to his suicide attempt, he has trouble putting it all into words. His sentences uncharacteristically broken, disjoined, he manages to tell her about it not being planned, about the surface things like Kurt going to New York and how he has no close friends and nobody appreciates him in Glee, about his parents always being busy and away. He wants to tell her how often he feels like he doesn't fit anyone's expectations, or how he's always knew that there's something essentially wrong with him; but he fumbles, searching for the right words.

Anything that he might have been trying to say dies in his throat, though, when he happens to look up at the psychiatrist then. Maybe she's having a bad day and forgot to control her reactions properly, or maybe it's just him overanalyzing, but he can clearly see judgment in her pale blue eyes behind thick glasses, and can almost _hear_ her thinking "Oh, just another kid trying to kill himself to draw attention. What a weakling." One blink and it's gone, the psychiatrist's eyes are focused and carefully neutral again, but the damage is done.

A realization hits Blaine and there's no way to disregard it now. God, he's such a loser, isn't he? Slitting his wrists because his boyfriend went to college and he felt lonely, seriously? It sounds so stupid he could laugh if it wasn't his own life. _Pathetic_.

So no, he has no other reasons to give, no deeper insight about his past or his insecurities. It doesn't matter. He isn't worth losing time and effort over. For the next half hour he answers more questions, automatically, half-heartedly, but it's just to get this over with. Just like he thought, they can't help him anyway. Nobody can fix what is wrong with him.

* * *

><p>The following days only confirm his conviction. There are three other patients after suicide attempts on the ward and their stories, shared during the group therapy, as well as their stares than he feels every time he turns his back, make Blaine feel deeply ashamed and even more worthless. People have so much bigger problems than his; what right does he have to bother anyone with his silly trouble? To take space, time and money that could have been put to better use helping others?<p>

There's a man who tried to kill himself after he was diagnosed with HIV and learned that he inadvertently infected his pregnant wife. There's a woman whose entire family was killed in a car crash, and another who lost her house and savings because of her husband's gambling addiction. There are people with other serious problems here, and Blaine feels like a preschooler trying to discuss his childish misfortunes with a group of adults.

Rationally, he knows that nobody is probably making fun of him behind his back or judging him too harshly – they all have way too much on their own plates to think about some misguided teenager. But it's enough that he knows the truth and understands the implications of it. And these are simple enough: no one can really help him, because there's nothing to help with. He's a failure; it's not something that can be cured, it's just what he is, like his sexuality and his curly hair. The only decent thing he can do is stop being a nuisance for other people – his parents, Kurt, the society in general.

He won't try suicide again; it was a stupid impulse, and he promised himself and Kurt that it wouldn't happen again. He just needs to disappear. Well, not literally – now _that_ would be a nuisance – no, he would just fade into the background. Learn not to draw attention, to be invisible. Stop trying so hard to prove to himself and others that he's worth something. Because he isn't, and it's time to accept it.

So for the remaining days in the hospital Blaine does what he's an expert at – he puts on a show face, grits his teeth and pretends that everything's good, steadily better. Pretends that he sleeps through nights even though he never asks for sleeping pills again; that he takes everything he can from the therapy sessions and group activities, and starts feeling more hopeful. Anything, just to survive the rest of the week and go home on Monday.

He must be good at that, too, which actually surprises him, because aren't therapists and psychologists supposed to see through such tricks? But they don't, not really – they take his quiet participation in everything and occasional weak smile as a good sign.

On Monday morning, after the last individual therapy session, his therapist tells him with a smile that thankfully, his depression was caught early and isn't severe yet, and with him trying so hard to get over it, he should be able to get much better soon with therapy alone, without medication. He's assigned a therapist outside the hospital and given a schedule of sessions for the first month – three times a week, for starters. If he continues to improve, he'll be allowed to go back to school after Christmas break.

Blaine feels a little guilty that what the young woman sees as a therapeutic success is nothing more than a dupe, but he quickly tells himself it's better in the long run. He'll do what he needs to for everyone to believe that he's fine and to save them trouble. His mother won't have to worry and spend money on meds and counseling, which won't help anyway. Kurt will be able to leave him behind without feeling guilty for deserting him in need. And Blaine will finally allow himself to stop fighting for unattainable goals and just let the currents of life take him wherever.

When he gets home that afternoon, his room welcomes him with blessed absence of other people, and silence he can drown in while his mom works quietly in her office downstairs. Blaine drops face down on the bed and just lies there, reveling in being alone at last.

* * *

><p>He must have fallen asleep at some point, because when he opens his eyes, he's groggy and stiff, it's after 8 pm and his mom is sitting on the edge of his bed, a little frown of worry on her face.<p>

"Honey, are you okay? I wanted to tell you dinner's in a half hour, but I can bring you sandwiches instead if you just want to eat and go back to sleep. You look pale."

The instinct to protect her and not cause her any more trouble kicks in instantly, the mask slides on easily, seamlessly, and Blaine manages a small smile.

"I'm fine. I just didn't sleep too well in the hospital, you know? There was always a light on and unfamiliar sounds around. I guess I needed some rest now."

She looks at him as if trying to see through him, read the truth in his eyes, like she could easily do when he was a child. But that particular "mom power" doesn't work anymore, it seems, because Blaine can see her believing his words, his face, and relaxing visibly. She smiles and brushes sweaty curls off his forehead the way she used to do back then, years ago.

"Okay. Will you eat with me then? You must be starving."

He isn't, not really. His body keeps forgetting about its basic needs lately. But he doesn't want to raise his mother's suspicions, so he nods and sits on the bed.

"I'll be down in twenty minutes."

Five minutes later he's in the shower, the water as hot as he can stand, the way he likes it. His thoughts swirl and wander, and of course they have to go to Kurt, where else?

He needs to call Kurt, he promised he would.

He also has to start getting used to not having Kurt in his life. It's a little over a month till Christmas and Blaine needs to do everything he can by then to let Kurt go, to widen the gap between them somehow, let the feelings cool off on both sides, make the ever present _need_ weaken and allow Kurt to focus on his new life, new friends, and to slowly forget. And when he comes home for Christmas, Blaine will be busy and a bit distant, or maybe he'll even convince his mom to get away this year? Visit his grandparents in Australia, perhaps?

The plan sounds logical and reasonable and _right_ – when it's abstract. As soon as Blaine tries to imagine actually applying it to his life and _holy shit letting Kurt go_, he starts to fall apart immediately and has to step out of the shower and sit down on the small stool in a corner because his knees are about to give way. It's as if Kurt's love is the glue keeping together all the barely fitting parts of Blaine's life that would fall apart otherwise, leaving him a mess of useless shards of a human being.

But it has to be done, he has to let Kurt free. He will deal with the fallout later, somehow. Blaine may be weak and faulty and wrong, but at least in this one case he has to be tough, no matter how much it costs him. Because Kurt deserves better. He deserves the _best_.

He's quiet all through dinner, eating automatically and without really tasting the food. He excuses himself without touching dessert, saying that he's tired and he needs to call Kurt. It takes all of his courage and leftover strength to actually pick up the phone, though. When he finally does, he feels numb – just thinking about what's about to change soon is too much – his mind closes it off. So Kurt's voice doesn't affect him at all, the anxiety and care in it just flowing through Blaine without leaving a mark. When he hangs up, he doesn't really know what they talked about; he just lies down on the bed, staring at the ceiling.

Nothing matters anymore. Nothing at all.


	9. Chapter 9

9.

Days go by slowly, measured by meals, showers, and Kurt's calls and texts that never fail to push Blaine deeper into the dark, numb place inside, because Kurt shouldn't waste his time on him, shouldn't have to pull his focus from the important things – studying, work, friends – to check if his joke of a boyfriend isn't slashing his wrists again.

On the surface, however, he does a surprisingly good job of pretending that things are better instead of worse.

He talks with his mom more than he has in years now that she's working from home, and even goes out with her a couple of times this first week, feigning interest in shopping, eating out or going to the movies. Her honest concern and worry for him move him, but also make him feel guilty; he doesn't deserve it. He acted stupidly and selfishly; he isn't worth their care – Kurt's, his mom's, Tina and others' from New Directions who sent him get-well cards when he was in the hospital.

In an effort to pretend he's getting better, Blaine makes his room look like he's actually doing something when sitting there for hours – a stack of his favorite books by the bed, a DVD put on right when his mum usually comes up to call him for dinner, music playing loud enough for her to hear. It's all pretend, of course – the books lie untouched, he doesn't pay attention to the music or the movies; he just sits there looking into space, lost in his head, feeling like he's dissolving into nothing until only his body remains, with some basic functions needed to survive. Every morning he tells himself that this is the day to start actively removing Kurt from his life, and each evening that week he admits to failure – yet another in a long line of them.

That Wednesday, he starts therapy and is again surprised by how easily the mask of a polite, slightly lost boy and some of his acting skills can fool a trained specialist. Of course, this is only the beginning of his therapy, the first hours dedicated to getting comfortable with each other, establishing some sort of rapport; keeping up his façade may get harder with time, when the therapist gets to know him better, but for now it's enough.

Sunday brings a break in Blaine's new routine. First, his mom informs him over breakfast that she has to return to work tomorrow. It doesn't surprise him – she loves her job to the point of obsession, and the last two months of the year are always the busiest, most frantic time at the company. He couldn't have chosen a worse time for his breakdown, really – a mean little voice in his head whispers. It would probably be easier for her – for everyone – if he succeeded.

He feels guilty for even thinking that, though it's most likely true. They'd bury him, grieve a little and go back to their lives, without all the additional mess. He's alive though, and the mess is his reality, so he has to deal with it. What his mom's return to work means in practice is that he'll have the house to himself most of the time – no need to pretend, to act like he's fine. It'll be easier.

Tina calls after lunch. She tried before, left a message when Blaine was in the mental hospital, but he hasn't gotten around to calling her back even though she's the best friend he has in Lima this year. But now, when people at school already know he's back home, he feels obliged to answer; besides, he has an image to uphold – if he was really recovering, he would want to hear from his friends, right? They talk for some time and it's only slightly awkward. When she says the New Directions flattened the competition at Sectionals despite his absence, Blaine cheers, but inside it feels like another confirmation: _I don't matter; they don't need me. Life goes on just fine without me_.

In the evening Kurt calls and proposes a Skype date because they haven't seen each other for two weeks, and Blaine, ever the people-pleaser, can't say _no_. Kurt seems more beautiful than ever, even in the grainy webcam image, and seeing him somehow prevents the usual, familiar numbness to descent upon Blaine. And _fuck_, it hurts – every smile, every warm word of care that should soothe like balm is sliding into Blaine's brain and over his skin like acid instead. He can't take it, can't have it, Kurt's not _his_ to love and cherish and take comfort from. He can't be, not anymore.

When they disconnect after an hour, Blaine's whole body aches, every muscle tensed to the extreme. Even his face feels stiff from keeping up the forced smile. He gets up from his chair, hands already shaking hard; everything _hurts_ like a reopened wound. Without much thought he reaches to the corkboard by his desk and takes off his favorite picture of them together, happy and carefree during the summer before Kurt left. Well, he has to start somewhere, right? Why not now, by destroying this photo? Surely nothing can hurt any more than it already does, can it?

Minutes later, Blaine's still standing by his desk, the picture in one hand, the pushpin that held it in the other, unable to make himself rip the image of perfect happiness the way he's about to rip apart their lives. It isn't until sharp pain in his hand shakes him out of the stupor that he realizes what he's done.

The red plastic head of the pushpin is sticking out from the fleshy part of his palm, right under the thumb – only the head; the whole metal pin embedded deep in the muscle.


	10. Chapter 10

10.

Blaine stares at the pushpin in a daze; what the hell has just happened? What did he do? It feels surreal, this piece of plastic sticking out of his hand like that, just below his thumb – even more so when he knows there's almost half an inch of sharp metal embedded in the flesh. Pushed in by his own hand. What was that, anyway? An accident? An intentional action? He doesn't remember doing anything with the pushpin beside holding it loosely in his hand. He must have squeezed it in his fist at some point.

Whatever it was, it worked in a funny way. Blaine realizes that everything suddenly seems faded, frozen and pushed into the background in his mind – the emotions, internal fights, he's not even thinking about Kurt anymore. Nothing else matters for the moment but the _thing_ in his hand; as if his body decided that this has priority now and recalled him to full attention.

He stares for a moment longer before reaching to remove the pushpin, pulling it out slowly, but not trying to be particularly gentle about it; the pain as the sharp tip drags over nerves on its way out feels strangely good. This is new; Blaine has never been a fan of pain of any kind – he experienced way too much of it all through his school career – but it feels different now, somehow. It's almost desirable.

When the pin is out, blood gathers in the place where it was stuck – a fast growing, deep red drop that soon overflows and slides down the slope of Blaine's hand. He watches it, fascinated. It's so beautiful, the red is simple and so vibrant, so _alive_. It's a splash of color so intense that everything else looks washed out in comparison. It reminds him of that rarely revisited moment after he cut his wrists, when the stream of red seemed to be filling some void inside him, making him feel warm and safe.

The blood flows only for a moment, and once it stops, Blaine manages to come back down to reality. Cursing himself for not being careful, he goes to the bathroom to disinfect the tiny wound as well as he can with it being so deep. He tells himself it was just a stupid little accident, nothing important, but somewhere deep down, he knows better. After all, if it didn't mean anything, why would he keep pressing on the pinprick all throughout the evening, the dull shots of pain giving him a strange sort of thrill? It's like he indulges in knowing that it's there and nobody knows, like a secret, like a sliver of control no one can take away from him. It's only his when so many things aren't, not anymore.

He sleeps well that night, which is a surprise after two weeks of either insomnia or waking up at all hours, but the way his mom seems to treat him like an invalid before she leaves for work the next morning immediately sets him on edge. She asks over and over again if he'll be alright alone, if he has her phone number and knows to call her if he feels worse; she wants to know all that he has planned for the day. It's not like Blaine doesn't understand her worries, so he grins and bears it, but it makes him feel even weaker and more deficient, untrustworthy. It gets worse with her every call during the day; after the fifth one, he's so stressed and angry with himself he wants to scream.

He ends up going to his room instead, where the pushpin from last night is still lying on the desk. The curiosity – he refuses to call it an urge, _it's not that, of course it isn't_ – seems to push him towards the little pin. A little test, research really, won't hurt anyone, right?

Blaine takes the pin to the bathroom and washes it thoroughly – he doesn't want an infection, after all – before returning to his room and settling on the bed. _Let's see if it works,_ he thinks before pressing the tip to the pad of his middle finger.

The pain as the pin sinks slowly deeper is sharp, simple and controllable. It stops almost entirely the second Blaine wants it to, as soon as he takes his finger off the head of the pushpin. The simplicity of this correlation, the basic cause/result dynamic, should be nothing new, but it's stunning now, when everything has seemed to be so far out of Blaine's control for so long. He can make this happen, and he can make it stop. So little and yet so very much. He has some control, which means he's still here, still real and alive, even though sometimes he feels like he's so deep in his own mind, lost in its chaos, that he has no connection with his body anymore.

And this type of pain – unlike the one Blaine feels whenever he thinks of his life, his future or Kurt, just plain _thinks_, really – is so simple. Just a physical response to the skin being breached and the nerve endings irritated. There's nothing complicated about it, no feelings or dilemmas or internal battles. Just pain.

And then there's blood, which is at least half of the appeal. The pull of this particular shade of red, just when it trickles out, before it starts to dry and oxidize, is addicting. It spells _life_ and _safety_, and _warmth_.

Over the next few days playing with the pushpin becomes Blaine's way of dealing with bad moments. It's not like he does it all that often – once, twice daily; only when he feels really restless and overwhelmed, or unreal and lost in his head, unable to get back. This is the only thing that really helps, and it's not like he's doing something wrong, is it? There's no harm in it, really. The pricks are not even visible, unless someone knows what to look for – just small red dots on his palms, his thigh, his arm. It's nothing to worry about, and it makes surviving every day so much easier, having this option, kind of an outlet for when things get really bad.

But as Thanksgiving approaches, Blaine's getting more and more restless and anxious. Both his parents are going to be home all day, and there's his aunt with her family coming to visit, so the house will be full of people he'll need to talk to, smile at, interact with. There'll be Anna, too, his 16-year-old cousin who's had a major crush on him for years. And this is his dad's side of the family, so – just like him – they simply ignore the fact that Blaine's gay, or worse, joke and tease him about it, as if it's some kind of a phase that he's bound to grow out of one day. The day is going to be sheer torture.

On Thursday morning Blaine is cleaning up a small, shallow scratch just below his knee – a place carefully chosen to avoid detection, and to be easily explainable if anyone noticed by any chance – when his phone rings, Kurt's smiling face on the display. He picks up almost cheerfully, the fresh calm still all over him, only to be sent right into a spinning chaos of panic and delight all at once. Kurt's voice is full of sun and smiles as he trills,

"Hi baby, I just wanted to let you know that I'm boarding the plane in five minutes. I don't know if we'll manage to meet today, for obvious reasons, but tomorrow I'm all yours. Love you!"


	11. Chapter 11

11.

Kurt can barely sit still the whole way to Columbus, impatient to see Blaine. Yes, he has to go straight home, it's Thanksgiving after all, but honestly, he'd really rather just spend the two and a half days he has free with his boyfriend. He misses his family, he _does_, and being able to spend this day with them is a true blessing, it's just…

Something bothers him about Blaine, something that doesn't quite fit in the "I'm depressed, but getting better now" picture he's trying to project. Kurt can't quite put his finger on what it is – nothing specific. He just has this feeling that something's wrong. There's something different about Blaine's voice on the phone, his tone, the way he speaks; it's all… guarded? Rehearsed? Forced? God, it sounds so silly even to Kurt himself, but he can't get it out of his mind, it's like an alarm bell going off. Maybe he could somehow see Blaine tonight, after the family dinner? He has to go back to New York early on Sunday morning to get to work – agreed to do this in exchange for getting his next paycheck early, the rest of the money he needed for the tickets. He has so little time in Ohio, every hour counts.

As soon as he's off the plane, he calls Blaine, but gets voicemail. Before he can try again a couple of minutes later, a text comes in.

_Sorry, family just arrived, can't talk. I'll call you tonight. Happy Thanksgiving!_

It looks like there will be no seeing Blaine tonight, after all.

* * *

><p>The dinner is delicious and it feels amazing to be back in the warm circle of his family, talking, laughing, just spending time together – it's one of the things Kurt misses most when he's in college. He knew it would be hard being so far away from them, and he was right; there are moments, usually in the evenings, when his heart just squeezes painfully and he misses them <em>so much<em>. He's so thankful to be here with them today.

Still, all along a part of his mind seems to be absent, preoccupied with thinking – worrying really – about Blaine. Kurt honestly tries to stop because it starts to be ridiculous – nothing happened, Blaine has his parents there, he has therapy three times a week, with a professional who would surely notice if anything was wrong. And yet Kurt can't seem to settle down, his mind nagging him to do _something_, telling him that he needs to help.

Maybe he should work on his overprotectiveness. Or his dependence, or whatever it is.

When Blaine finally calls around 10 pm, the alarms in Kurt's head go off harder than ever. His boyfriend sounds tired, sad, hurt, all sorts of bad, and Kurt has to suppress the instinct to hop in his car and go to the Andersons' house immediately. Instead, he just settles on his bed with the phone and listens to Blaine's voice.

"Hey, I'm sorry I didn't pick up earlier but you know my father's side of the family – or at least you know _of_ them."

Kurt remembers their conversation from a long time ago and frowns.

"So what, you are still a misguided straight teenager?"

"Apparently. It's just _so exhausting_. And of course they heard about the hospital and everything, so they're even more onto me now – you know, how depression is just an excuse for _weak_ people, how I have it too _good_ in life, and should see what hard means. How I should find a proper girl at last and have sex and it would surely cure me."

Blaine sighs heavily and Kurt can feel his blood boil with anger at those people he's never met but already dislikes. How can they even say things like that? Can't they see… Ugh, right. No, they can't, that's the problem.

"What about your parents? Couldn't they say anything?"

"My mom told them to leave me alone, but then they simply chose moments when she was not around to give their _good advice_. My dad didn't comment, as always. I know he agrees with them. I _am_ weak."

"No, you're _not_." Kurt's response is immediate, heated, but Blaine just sighs.

"Whatever. I'm just so tired. It was a bad day. I guess I can be thankful it's over, right?"

"I guess so. And we get to meet tomorrow."

Whatever reaction to his coming home – and to Blaine – Kurt expected, it was _not_ this weary sort of resignation he hears now. "Oh, right. Do you want to go shopping? It's Black Friday, after all."

His eyebrows arch disbelievingly. _Shopping, really? _"No, I just want to spend time with you. Can I come over?"

"Sure. I'll be waiting." The exhaustion is even more pronounced in Blaine's voice now and Kurt quickly forgets about his disappointment.

"Okay. Go get some sleep. I'll see you tomorrow. I love you."

"Love you too."

Even these words sound flat, but Kurt tries hard to ignore it. Blaine's just tired. Nothing more.

* * *

><p>Two evenings later, on Saturday, Kurt is sitting on his bed in pajamas, the suitcase all packed and ready for his early morning departure, and he feels more confused than ever. He hoped that after this weekend and spending as much time as he could with Blaine, he would now understand the changes in him, and would be able to go back to NY calmer, certain of his boyfriend's safety. Instead, the ground seems to slip from beneath his feet and Kurt doesn't know what to think anymore.<p>

Because he went to Blaine's house yesterday thinking that either everything is all right and he's been imagining things, or Blaine is more depressed than he let slip when talking with Kurt, and needs help. But now, after Blaine's confusing, erratic behavior these past two days, Kurt can't shake off the suspicion that – hard as it is to admit – Blaine may just be falling out of love with him. And damn, it hurts like a stab to the heart to even think about it because what Kurt feels when seeing this boy, even hearing his voice, is strong and sure and still like _forever_. But it looks like it may not be _forever _after all.

Because while Blaine was clearly trying to act normal around Kurt, it felt forced somehow, as if it was an effort to do what used to come naturally to them. Sitting together, cuddling, talking, touching, kissing – it all felt off somehow, minutely delayed, almost imperceptibly hesitant. Kurt would have believed that it was just because they haven't done these things for so long, but it didn't lessen during the hours they spent together – on the contrary, in fact.

And the things Blaine kept dropping every now at then into their conversation…

_You should focus on college and your life, I'm sure there are so many interesting things and people there_.

_You can have anyone you want – and you deserve the best_.

_Who knows what happens by next year_.

_We may not be able to meet at Christmas, family plans, you know_.

All of these delivered in a caring, but neutral, almost calm tone. Not like a sad, jealous boyfriend might speak; not at all.

And then there were the moments of sudden clinginess when Blaine seemed as if he would never, ever let him go – always followed by distancing himself suddenly, cooling off. And not in the _good_ way. They had the house to themselves for almost two whole days and they didn't get any closer than kisses. Not that Kurt wanted to meet just to have sex, of _course_ not – but the truth is, he's missed Blaine; not just _him_, but his body too, his touches and hands and soft skin, his chest hair and curls where Kurt's fingers tangled, his breathy sounds of arousal and his _cock_, in Kurt's hand, his mouth, everywhere. He's missed all this so bad it hurt. And yet… nothing. Not even a suggestion. Not a heated glance.

He sits on the bed, close to tears, but trying to keep them at bay because his dad of Finn or Carole can come in at any moment to talk some more before he goes away tomorrow at the insane morning hour. But he knows that as soon as everyone's asleep, the tears will flow as if it was a real break-up and not just a foreseen one, looming over his head, more real with every minute he thinks about it.


	12. Chapter 12

12.

Kurt's phone going off with its ridiculously cheery tune shakes him out of his miserable thoughts. Swallowing the tears quickly to try and sound normal, he reaches for the device – and frowns; it's Mrs. Anderson. She speaks fast when he answers, sounds of people and vehicles muffled in the background.

"Kurt, hi, my battery is dying and I need to ask you for a huge favor. I know it's late and you have a plane to catch in the morning, but could you go spend the night with Blaine?" Kurt's mouth falls open because yes, they've been sleeping together and it's quite logical to assume their parents know that at some level, but a request like this from Blaine's mom of all people is really not something he expected. She continues. "I'd be really grateful. They've cancelled our flight, we can't get home until tomorrow and I'm afraid to leave him alone for the night. Do you think you could do this? I spoke to your dad, he said he's okay with it if you are."

And Kurt doesn't even hesitate – he will go, of course he will because yes, it's reasonable, Blaine shouldn't be alone, not so soon after his breakdown. And besides, if he _is_ getting over Kurt, maybe this is the last chance for them to spend a night together. It may be pathetic, but Kurt can't say _no_ to this. He just can't.

* * *

><p>But standing on the Andersons' doorstep a little later, with his suitcase like an anchor by his side, Kurt feels strange and unsure all of a sudden. It all feels surreal. It's midnight, the house stands dark and silent, and he realizes that he doesn't even know if Blaine is awake, let alone if he expects him or wants him here. He used to know such things, he muses – a goodnight call or text used to be as certain as the fact that they loved each other; Kurt used to be sure that Blaine would be happy to see him at any time. The fact that he isn't now speaks volumes about the distance that's crept in between them.<p>

With his heart stuck in his throat, Kurt rings the bell a couple of times before calling Blaine's cell. His boyfriend sounds breathless and distracted when he picks up on the fourth ring, but much more relaxed than he did at any point during the last two days, and damn, it hurts.

"Hi, Kurt! Sorry, I wanted to call you to say goodnight, but then it got late and I wasn't sure I wouldn't wake you, so-"

"I'm at your front door."

There's a muffled curse, a note of panic in Blaine's voice and rapid shuffling in the background, and for one crazy second Kurt wonders if Blaine has somebody there with him. Then he shakes his head; no, he wouldn't – not Blaine. There's a sound of footsteps in the receiver then, and Blaine says, "Sorry, I'm coming."

Half a minute later he opens the door, disheveled in his night clothes and sucking on the pad of his thumb with an expression that seems guilty for some reason.

"Sorry, I only just noticed my mum's text that you would be coming, it's… wow, I can't believe she asked you to. Come in, don't stand in the cold."

Kurt can't really read Blaine's mood as he enters. It's something like a surprised hospitality, with a note of uneasiness, perhaps; like he's letting in a random unexpected guest, not his boyfriend. His _boyfriend_… for how much longer? They don't kiss or hug; hell, Blaine doesn't even say he's happy to see him. Probably because he isn't.

Suddenly aware of the uncomfortable silence, Kurt grapples for something to say – something better than, _So do you want us to break up?_ Nervous (and when was the last time he was nervous talking to Blaine?) he grasps at the first thing he can think of.

"What happened to your hand?"

Blaine shifts uncomfortably and pulls the finger out of his mouth. A small amount of blood gathers instantly in a tiny wound on the fingertip; Blaine grabs a tissue to wipe it off.

"It's nothing. Got startled by your call and accidently stuck myself with a pin."

"You should clean it up."

"Yeah, I probably should. I'll just… go ahead?" Blaine stops uncertainly before going upstairs, as if waiting for confirmation that Kurt still remembers the way to his room – the same room he's been to dozens of times, most recently this afternoon. The discomfort is almost thick in the air between them; it's never been this way before.

Suddenly Kurt isn't sure how he's going to survive the night without his heart breaking into tiny little pieces. Because even if Blaine hasn't admitted it to himself yet – or has he? – it's clear that he doesn't really want them together anymore. There are only two ways this night can end – and Kurt doesn't know which he dreads more. They may talk and break up right here and now, or they may pretend that everything is all right and sleep together. Or even _sleep_ together, although Kurt doubts that. Either way, it's going to _hurt_. Steeling himself, Kurt takes a deep breath and follows his boyfriend upstairs.

Blaine's already in his room when he gets there; there's a small bandage on his thumb and his eyes are distant and tired. They hardly speak; Kurt goes to the bathroom to change back into pajamas and when he comes back, Blaine is waiting for him in his bed, looking sad and sleepy. They lie in silence, as if acknowledging that there's nothing more to say, just holding each other lightly, and Kurt can't believe how much has changed between them. It's everything he was afraid of before going away in August. How did it happen? Where did they go wrong? Is there any chance to save it – save _them_?

He realizes he's been absentmindedly stroking Blaine's hand when his fingertips brush over the raised skin of the scar on Blaine's wrist. He flinches a little before gently smoothing his fingers over it again, deliberately this time, and risking a soft, chaste kiss to his boyfriend's lips. Blaine responds in kind and they kiss for a long while, their hands gentle and slow on hair and cheeks, necks and over clothes. There's no passion there, nothing erotic really, just intimacy and care, and need for comfort. When Kurt starts to drift off into sleep, he tries to imagine that everything is still good between them; that they still have a future together in New York and love that is greater that Kurt ever hoped for, invincible. He lets himself get lost in Blaine's embrace, in the touch of Blaine's hand on his waist, in Blaine's scent – everything so familiar, bringing back the best moments of his life. He lets himself forget that it might be their last night together, and falls asleep, feeling safe.

* * *

><p>At 4:30 the alarm in Kurt's phone starts blaring; his mind doesn't want to wake up though, tangled somewhere in the last tendrils of a dream. As he forces himself out of Blaine's arms and out of bed, Kurt only remembers dreaming about being held tightly and surely, a warm, well known hand on the naked skin under his pajama top and words whispered hotly, fervently into his neck. He can't remember any particular words, but he recalls tears, hot and wet on his chest, and wonders what it was that he dreamt about.<p>

But he doesn't have time to think about it – doesn't let himself think at all, really, afraid he won't be able to leave if he does. Quickly, efficiently, he does the short version of his morning routine, gets dressed, and accepts a slice of toast and a cup of coffee that Blaine made for him. Then, with a quick kiss and a hug, trying not to think about them as potentially the last ones, Kurt gets in his car – Finn will pick it up on Monday – and goes to the airport.


	13. Chapter 13

13.

Thanksgiving is tough – it always is, with the family coming. Sometimes Blaine thinks they only come every year to give him a hard time. But he survives somehow, even if he has to bite the inside of his lip half the time to stop himself from shouting at them. At some point the skin breaks under his teeth and he feels the salty, coppery taste of blood. Strangely, it calms him down.

The next two days are even tougher. And it feels weird and unfair because not that long ago the prospect of spending two days with Kurt would be a dream come true; something to make Blaine ridiculously happy. They would probably have spent hours in bed, naked and hungry for each other, trying to make up for months of separation, soaking in the closeness, reluctant to let go even for a moment. They would have talked non-stop, only breaking their conversation to kiss and have sex.

But it doesn't work this way, not anymore. He might have not consciously decided to try and distance himself from Kurt here and now, but the mere knowledge that Kurt will be heading back to New York soon and Blaine will stay here, alone, to try and forget him all over again, makes him careful and aloof. Even as Blaine's skin aches to touch, to be closer, as close as humanly possible; even as his heart floods with love as he takes in all the tiny, precious details of Kurt that the months apart blurred in his memory, his mind remembers: Kurt deserves better. Blaine has to let him go. If he really loves Kurt, he will release him into the world of possibilities and the bright future that is just waiting to accept and embrace him.

Kurt seems surprised at first, confused. He tries to initiate closeness, to talk – really, openly talk, like they used to do all the time – about the previous weeks and months, all the topics they've been avoiding all this time. Blaine's depression, his suicide attempt, the fact that Kurt never knew anything about it; the distance that wasn't there before. But Blaine can't talk about it – can't even start, so he keeps dodging the hard subjects, pretending not to notice Kurt's attempts.

And the more time passes, the more hurt Kurt looks, the more he retreats into himself, not trying to cuddle into Blaine's side anymore, not diving too deep into topics that might be even slightly touchy or personal. So they spend hours, alone in the empty house, more like friends than boyfriends and lovers. Kurt doesn't ask why anymore. Blaine doesn't explain, either. But it kills him slowly; his skin too tight, itching to be scratched or punctured open if it can't be touched and caressed; the deceptively steady beat of his heart tempting him with promises of red, red blood. His mask feels more like a prison with every passing hour, suffocating him and threatening to split open. When Kurt leaves on Friday evening, Blaine spends long minutes with the pin in his shaking fingers, fighting with the need to use it. He promised himself he wouldn't do this, though, not while Kurt is in Ohio. Finally, he hides the tiny thing deep in his drawer and goes to take a long shower instead, the water so hot it hurts.

On Saturday, every minute with Kurt is torture, Blaine's façade so strained that it's cracking in places. He knows his behavior is more and more erratic, moments of clinginess sneaking through his mental barriers, and Kurt looks lost and resigned when they say goodbye, and so sad that Blaine's heart bleeds. Still, he manages to resist the siren's call of his little steel friend for several hours, just lying on his bed in a fetal position, numb and defeated, unaware of anything but the empty dreariness of his world and the fact that every hour brings him closer to the moment when Kurt will be so, so far away again. His thoughts, wandering aimlessly, bring him to the realization of just how lonely he is, and how alone he will be when his phone finally stops bringing him Kurt's voice and his words. This is the final straw. Blood pounding in his ears, Blaine grabs the pushpin and blindly, viciously, pushes it into his thumb.

Of course, just as the relief hits him like a shock of cool water on overheated skin, Kurt comes to spend the night. And lying with Kurt breathing peacefully in his arms is enough to keep Blaine awake all night long. He spends the night hours – their last hours together like this, he's certain – intermittently taking Kurt in with all his senses and whispering hotly into his skin; pleas and apologies, explanations and well wishes, all watered generously with tears. Kurt sleeps through it all, and even though Blaine knows he'll never tell him all that to his face, he feels better with his words hidden under Kurt's skin, in his hair, built into his very being. Kurt won't remember, but maybe he'll _know_, one it will be enough for forgiveness, maybe with time, it will help.

And then it's 5 am and Kurt has to go. There's one last hug, one soft kiss that begs to be held and prolonged forever, and then Kurt is gone. Blaine turns on the spot, comes back to the house and opens the long unused door leading down to the basement.

* * *

><p>It's his little gym, which he hasn't used in quite some time. The running mill and the training bike are gathering dust in the corners, his weights lie forgotten on their stand. Stiffly, like an automaton, Blaine strips off his shirt and picks up his boxing gloves. He makes quick work of wrapping his hands and fastening the gloves – anxiety itching under his skin, nervous energy almost crackling all around him. He feels so restless he just wants to act, stepping to the center of the room and the heavy boxing bag hanging from the ceiling. The urge is building in his stomach, shooting up his spine in rapid, angry waves.<p>

The first punches are furious and fast, and they only build in intensity until everything Blaine hears is the pounding of his heart and the dull thumps of fists hitting the leather of the bag. And screaming. He's _screaming_, raw and angry, like a wounded animal, just letting out sounds and fury and pain without any coherence because he's _so_ beyond that. His muscles ache, his joints feel like they are ripping with the force of every punch, his body out of practice and not warmed up, sweat stinging his eyes – he doesn't care.

He's _angry_ – angry at life, at himself, at Kurt, too. It's _not fair_, not fair that he has to be screwed up like this, destined for some mediocre, lackluster life, undeserving of love, joy and success. _Why_? What has he ever done that was so bad the world is punishing him like this? Because he sure as hell can't remember anything that would make him deserve _this_.Was it something in his previous life that he doesn't really believe in? Was it something his ancestors had done that he has to pay for now in karmic currency? Or is it just life being cruel, laughing in his face? Giving him the perfect man, love like a dream, successes and perspectives, and then snatching it all away? No, worse – making him reject it himself, cut it out of his heart with a dull, rusty knife, bit by bit, because he doesn't deserve it. Because he's _weak_ and _wrong_ and just plain not _worth_ it.

And then Kurt – just coming back like this, out of the blue, showing him again what he's losing, shoving it in Blaine's face with his beauty, his soft words and softer touches, his kisses and patience and love. Doesn't he know how much harder he's making it to forget him? No, not forget – Blaine will never forget anyway, but at least pretend, at least distance himself.

Kurt's fingers, feather-light on his wrist last night, burnt Blaine with the intensity of shame like nothing he'd felt before. It was supposed to be acceptance, probably, but who was Kurt kidding? How could he accept _this_, accept _Blaine_ with all his wrongs and weaknesses? He can't, he just doesn't realize it. Kurt accepts what he can see, what Blaine lets him see, or maybe what he wants to see; just bits and pieces and shiny little details – and it's so far from the full, real image.

Sweat is flowing continuously down Blaine's face and his body now; his arms feel weak and hands beaten to a pulp, his muscles and joints scream with every movement. But the anger and torture of it all don't lessen, don't flow out with the force of the punches, with sweat and screams, like they always did in Blaine's worst moments when he sought refuge here. It doesn't _help_, damn it, his last resort doesn't _work_ now.

He realizes he's crying – big, gulping sobs, choking on all the grief and pain and the whirlwind of thoughts and emotions going crazy inside his head, impossible to stop. He tears off his gloves in violently fast movements, dropping them to the floor. His muscles are killing him, but he doesn't care as he runs upstairs, to his bathroom, to hide under streams of water so hot it's almost scalding.

He's crying and choking, and trying to stop the chaos in his head, slow it down even a little bit because it's making him crazy and nothing helps, nothing at all. It's like he's feeling everything at once, unable to focus on anything – hundreds of stimuli, from inside and out, are fighting for his attention, and he feels himself drowning in them. Nothing makes sense and for the first time in his life Blaine really thinks that he _wants_ to die, just to stop feeling, to make his mind _quiet_, make it shut up.

And then somehow in all this chaos he remembers the pushpin, the singular blade of pain, the simple beauty of blood. He doesn't have it there with him though, and even if he did, it wouldn't be enough, not with how lost and hurting he is. He'll just use something else, and if this doesn't help…

It _has to_ help. It has to, or he'll go crazy.

Reaching out of the shower and forcing the medicine cabinet open, Blaine retrieves the straight razor that he got as a gift from his grandfather when he started shaving. His hands are trembling so bad he almost drops the razor while trying to open it with wet slick fingers, but finally, he succeeds. Even though something in his brain whispers, _no, bad idea, it's the road leading even deeper_, right now he doesn't care, he just wants to stop the hurricane in his head.

Without even stopping to think – the voice in his head screaming now, pleading, reasoning, but getting lost in the stormy waves of everything else – Blaine presses the blade to his upper arm and slides it in a light caress.

The pain is sharp and perfect, centering him immediately, giving him the feeling of control. Blood flows down his arm, drips from his fingers to swirl on the floor for a moment, so pretty, and then gets sucked into the drain. So he does it again, and again, focusing on that sharp burn bringing him the feeling of calm.

Daze and a pleasant rush envelop him as he gets out of the shower at last and dries himself off in slow, relaxed movements. Not bothering to cover his nudity, Blaine grabs a washcloth to press to his still bleeding arm – the pressure brings back some of the pain and _god_, that feels good – and goes right back to bed. He's asleep almost as soon as his head hits the pillow.

* * *

><p>When he wakes up, it's late afternoon and his brain has switched back on at last, calm and rational. For a moment Blaine hopes that it was just a dream, but no. There are six long cuts across the width of his left bicep; shallow, but caked with dried blood. It's nothing like the tiny scratches and pinpricks of before, and the feelings of shame and unease hit him hard. This is something else, something so much worse because now there's no escaping the word he heard and read so many times.<p>

_Cutter_.

He's no longer playing with fire, creeping along the edge. He's a cutter. He can add this to the resume of his failures. Congratulations.


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N:**_ A short, but tough one today. There's a ray of hope coming soon, though. I promise._

* * *

><p>14.<p>

By the time his parents return from their business trip that evening, Blaine has decided that it was a one-time mistake, a stupid, impulsive thing that he will never do again. He really doesn't need to get any more screwed up.

He manages to stick to his decision until Tuesday, but honestly, on Monday he already knows it's going to be a problem. Kurt has hardly contacted him at all since the short text to let him know that he arrived in New York safely. Even though Blaine knows that this is exactly how it should go, with Kurt slowly getting over him and focusing on his college life and new people, he can't erase the vision of his beautiful, heartbroken face from his memory. It comes back every time he closes his eyes or gets lost in thought, haunting him day and night.

Soon he can feel the numbness creeping up on him again, saving him from the heartache, but leaving him feeling half-alive, half-awake, half-human. No pain means no good feelings either. No feelings at all, to be honest. Blaine hates that. It's like walking in a thick, cold grey cloud. Everything is fuzzy and immaterial, unimportant. During therapy on Monday evening he talks about his Thanksgiving and about Kurt's visit – not telling the therapist everything, of course, just the parts about wanting to prolong their time together forever, about love and longing, always longing. It should hurt, he knows, but it doesn't, his brain and heart numb, frozen. It's even worse than the pain, somehow – at least the pain was _his_, a part of his life still connected to Kurt – precious, with so many other connections gone. Now, he doesn't even have this.

By Tuesday, Blaine isn't even sure if he's awake. Everything seems unreal, distant, like an echo of his life, like he's living in his own head. That afternoon he's home alone and on the verge of a panic attack as he's trying to hold on to reality. He ends up in the bathroom, the razor in his violently shaking hand, promising himself to only cut once. Just to check if he can make himself feel again.

Four more fresh cuts adorn his arm a moment later, but the world has come back into focus and it's so much easier to breathe and think clearly.

After that, it spirals down fast. On Wednesday morning he adds new cuts to his collection, this time on his upper thigh. By the evening, after therapy, the numb, panic-inducing feeling is back and he cuts again. He manages to control the number of cuts, at least – only two each time. So it's good, it's progress, right?

Except Kurt calls him on Thursday morning and asks, just like that, if he wants them to break up. Blaine doesn't remember much from this conversation after he forces out the quiet _Yes_, although he's pretty sure they talked for a long while. Any restraint goes out the window after that, the skin of his thigh is _shredded_ within minutes. At least he has enough control to cut light, shallow, his promise to Kurt that he won't try to take his life again guiding his hand.

Weak as a baby, probably more from shock than the blood loss, Blaine spends the whole day in bed, mostly sleeping, occasionally waking up only to remember that _he broke up with Kurt_. He can't even cry, suffocated by the nothingness; the heaviness in his chest and the way the world seems emptier and darker than ever seem to be the only real feelings. He's grateful for the fact that his mom doesn't come back home until late evening that day, because he only has enough energy to keep up his façade for a moment before saying he's tired and going back to bed.

It's getting worse. So much worse than Blaine ever believed possible.


	15. Chapter 15

15.

It takes hours for Kurt to truly understand what's happened, what is still happening. He's off the plane and in his empty dorm room, changing before heading to work, when it hits him: Blaine doesn't really want them to be together anymore. Kurt's first boyfriend, first lover, first _everything_ really, is slowly, but surely falling out of love with him. When days ago Kurt was still dreaming about their future together here in New York, even going as far as secretly hoping for a wedding and, when he felt very daring, thinking about names for their future children, Blaine probably no longer wanted any of it. Not with Kurt, anyway. And he couldn't even admit it, opting for distancing himself more and more. Hoping for what? That Kurt would say it himself, sparing him the ordeal? Or that there may still be a chance for them?

It's getting late and Kurt really has to leave to get to his shift at the coffeeshop on time, but he can't move – a huge gaping hole seems to suddenly have taken residence inside his chest, pain radiating from it until every move, every breath hurts. Yes, he'd always known it might happen one day. He isn't stupid, he knows the statistics concerning the chances of a high school love – your first love – surviving college and becoming a life-long relationship. He's heard it time and time again, from too many people. But still, all along, he's been harboring hope that this love, _their_ love, would be the rare exception, the kind of which people talk with envy and awe.

But apparently it isn't meant to be. And they are so entangled in each other, have grown so close and deep into each others' lives and hearts that separating himself from Blaine won't be possible without tearing away parts of himself; blood, tears and agony. Even thinking about it is unbearable. Kurt wants to just curl in bed and cry himself to sleep, hoping that he will wake up in the morning and realize it was just a bad dream.

He doesn't, though, forcing himself to move, to go on, to get busy. Maudling really won't help – quite the contrary; if he's losing Blaine, the only constant, only safe place apart from his family, he needs other things to anchor him and give him purpose. Studying, working, being with his friends – if he lets himself slip into the deep, deep hole of grieving over his relationship that hasn't even ended yet, he won't be able to do any of these and will ultimately lose them too. He has to focus on anything but Blaine. That's the only way for him to survive this.

So Kurt grinds his teeth and moves. He gets to work only a little late and stays there until he can barely stand. Only then does he let himself go back to his room and fall on the bed, not even bothering to wash the smell of the coffeeshop off his skin. He's asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow, but the night is bad, dark dreams pressing heavily on his chest and waking him up repeatedly.

It takes every bit of Kurt's willpower to focus during his classes on Monday; and filling all the spare moments with studying in the library and working helps only until he's back in his dorm room that evening. At least Danny is there, too, and before Kurt knows it, he's telling his friend about the disastrous trip home.

* * *

><p>Danny whistles when Kurt's finished.<p>

"Wait, so you worked like a slave those previous weeks only to have your heart broken by the love of your life? Man, that's harsh. I think it calls for some serious therapy. Tomorrow night, at the girls' place. I'll set it all up and get the booze. And don't even try to say no. You need this."

Kurt doesn't protest. Maybe he _does_ need it. At least, it's a way to forget, even if only for one night.

So Tuesday at 8 he arrives with Danny at the apartment that Kathy, Michelle and Emily rent together and before Kurt knows it, he's drunk and more angry than heartbroken for a change. An hour later he's telling his friends about his boyfriend's depression and the way he tried to kill himself, and how Kurt wanted to be there for him, support him because he loves Blaine, dammit, but instead he's getting a cold shoulder and how is that even fair?

Victor's deep voice sounds by Kurt's side – too close, right in his personal space.

"Well, I'd say it's all for the better, really. The man is clearly too weak to be good for you; you deserve someone better, stronger – "

He speaks on, but Kurt doesn't hear anymore over a flood of words and sensations suddenly overflowing his brain. It feels like something clicked inside his head, shifted, releasing a memory – or a dream? There was a warm hand on the skin of his back and hot tears sliding over Kurt's neck and chest, and there were words, so many words whispered quietly and urgently in Blaine's voice, raw with emotion. He still doesn't remember all of them, just bits and pieces, but even these are enough to make his head spin.

_I'm weak, Kurt, so weak and a failure and just wrong. I don't deserve your love, you need someone better because you are –_

And,

_I'm not getting better baby, I never will – it's not the depression, it's me, just me, that's how I am, not good enough, never good enough –_

And,

_I'm sorry, please, I hope you'll forgive me one day. It's better like that, better for you, you'll be better off without me._

And the words that hit Kurt like a bucket of cold water, clearing his alcohol-muddled brain faster that should be possible.

_I love you so very much, I always will, Kurt. Even if I never get to tell you again, in my heart you will always be the one and only. Always._

Kurt's up and on his way to the door before he even realizes what he's doing. Someone calls after him, tries to stop him, but he doesn't care. Grabbing his coat, he runs out into the night; he needs to sober up, to think, to remember.

* * *

><p>An hour-long walk to his dorm through the freezing city helps with sobering and thinking, but not remembering. Kurt still can't be sure if what he remembered are parts of a dream he had that Saturday night with Blaine, or if it actually happened when he was asleep, but maybe only half so. And it's driving him crazy because this little detail is what changes everything.<p>

If Blaine really said all those things to him – and he knows there were many more, he just can't quite remember – it means that not only didn't he stop loving Kurt; he's pushing him away because he feels like he, Blaine, doesn't deserve him. Which in turn means that his therapy clearly isn't working, that maybe he's even getting worse instead of better.

Sudden fear grips Kurt's heart as he lies down on his dorm bed, not even bothering to undress. How can he find out what really happened? He could just call Blaine and ask him, but if his boyfriend really went to all this trouble to cover it all up, and did it so well that Kurt wasn't able to realize it – well, then there's no guarantee that his answer will solve the mystery. Kurt needs to find another way. And decide what he would do if that night scene really happened.

He doesn't get up all Wednesday, skipping classes and work, too busy thinking, considering, planning. Nothing is more important than that now. Weighing his feelings and responsibilities, wondering where love ends and madness begins. Calculating risks and reactions and strengths. Finally, early Thursday morning, as soon as Danny leaves the room to grab some breakfast and coffee, Kurt takes a deep breath and calls the well known number. He feels sick, knowing what he's about to do, but he needs to shake Blaine out of his masks and defenses; he needs him open and vulnerable, if only for a moment. He has to know.

Blaine's voice is a bit slurry, sleep-rough when he answers, and Kurt uses that rare moment of half-awake honesty to ask.

"Blaine, I need to know. Do you want us to break up?"

The choked _yes_ breaks his heart, but then he's flooded with words and explanations and apologies, all of which come to one: _You should find someone else, someone good, and live your life in New York without anything holding you back_. Kurt's not sure Blaine even knows what he's saying by the end of it, his voice breaking and his words just barely covering the real meaning: _Find someone better. I'm not good enough. I don't deserve you_. That's all Kurt needs to know, really.

After they disconnect, Kurt gets up quickly, his mind working on full speed already – planning, making _to do_ lists, not a bit of hesitation left. All day he's running around, talking to people; writing requests and filling forms; presenting his case; organizing things with his friends; packing his bag. He doesn't think about how Blaine must feel now; he can't afford it. He'll think about it tomorrow.

Friday, at the crack of dawn, there are hugs and warm words and promises. And then Kurt's boarding the plane, not looking back. He will return. But right now, he needs to be somewhere else.


	16. Chapter 16

16.

Kurt managed not to focus on Blaine all day yesterday, busy organizing everything, but now, sitting idly on the plane, he suddenly can't think about anything else. It's been 24 hours since they talked; Blaine's probably been feeling terrible. Kurt can't help but remember his breaking voice, how lost he sounded, how unhappy – both on the phone and in the memory of that dream that was probably not a dream after all – and he feels like every minute of flight and then the bus ride from Columbus stretches painfully, full to the bursting point of seconds and heartbeats and anxious thoughts. Time flows slowly like a thick syrup, and by the time Kurt finally gets off the bus, he feels almost sick with dreadful anticipation, the memory of those terrible hours after Blaine's suicide attempt still fresh in his mind, forcing his legs to go faster, almost in a run, during the 15-minute walk to Blaine's house. He wouldn't do _that_ again, would he? He promised. But this was before, when he still hoped for Kurt's support, before he denied himself even this comfort. Would he still feel obliged to keep his promise now?

Kurt is almost breathless, his stomach clenching painfully, when he finally arrives at the Andersons' doorstep. Before he can ring the doorbell, the door opens to reveal Blaine's mom, dressed for work, briefcase in hand. She startles as she almost collides with him.

"Kurt, hi, what a surprise! Back home for the weekend? Sorry, I need to run, I'm already late – go on, Blaine's in his room, still asleep, most likely. He must have been reading half the night again. See you later!"

And with that, she's gone, her small black convertible backing off from the driveway seconds later.

Kurt comes in and now that he's finally here, he can feel his fear like a palpable thing. His heart tries to leave his body via his throat and his hands shake as he leaves his bag, coat and heavy boots by the door before quietly ascending the wooden steps on sock-clad feet. What state will he find Blaine in, what mood? Will he have to convince him to drop the façade? Make him listen? Yes, probably. Will he be able to help? He knows he'll do anything.

Breath catching in his throat, Kurt knocks on the familiar door. There's a muffled _Yes, mom, I'm awake, I'll be out in a minute_ and it sounds like Blaine's in his bathroom. So Kurt waits for a bit and knocks again. The voice is closer now, strong and level, and had Kurt not seen dozens of times how well Blaine hides behind mental walls and covers his true emotions, he might believe he imagined everything these last few days.

"Okay, okay. Come in."

So he does. Blaine's standing with his back to the door, in simple blue jeans and a black t-shirt, shuffling through books on his desk. He looks his usual, dapper self. Until he turns a moment later, that is. The second he sees Kurt in the middle of the room, the shock makes all pretenses fall and Blaine just looks himself. A pale, exhausted, broken version of himself.

Kurt wants to move forward immediately, to get to him, gather him into a tight hug and apologize, soothe, promise everything would be all right now. But before he can do anything, one more detail catches his eye.

One of Blaine's short sleeves has folded back a little and the even red lines that peek from under it look like… like… _No. God no._

Kurt realizes there must be a horror-struck expression on his face because Blaine follows his gaze to his arm and the cuts, and he crumples. Hunching over and curling in on himself, his hand pressed against the cut arm, Blaine whispers, his voice barely audible and his eyes squeezed shut.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry…"

And no matter what Kurt's emotions are now, no matter his shock and guilt and regret that it took him so long, _too_ long to realize, he pushes it all aside. These can wait, Blaine is what's important now.

In two strides he's by Blaine's side, embracing him, pulling him as close as physically possible, feeling the boy cling to him with all his might. He can feel hot tears on his own cheeks as he strokes Blaine's back soothingly.

"I'm here baby, I love you, I'm not leaving you again. I promise."

* * *

><p>For a moment, Blaine is certain that he's hallucinating.<p>

He was in his bathroom, the bleeding from the fresh set of cuts barely stopped, his mind dazed and reeling and so, so tired after a night filled with nothing but emptiness left after he tore out his heart and crushed it by telling Kurt they are over. And then his mom – or so he thought – was knocking on his door, and he was getting dressed in a hurry and pretending to be busy, praying that she wouldn't go into the bathroom where the evidence of his actions still lay scattered all over the floor and counters. And the next thing he knows, Kurt's there, in the middle of his room. Which is impossible.

And then Kurt _sees_.

This is the point where Blaine stops caring if it's reality or a creation of his weak, unstable mind. It doesn't matter. He's in Kurt's arms, warm and safe and so close, and if it's a hallucination – fine, he'll gladly live in it forever.

Except some time later his brain switches back on and insists on investigating the case. They are on the bed by then, lying tangled together, and Blaine can feel Kurt's body, which he knows almost better than his own; can smell Kurt's scent that he'd recognize anywhere. And as he looks up, there's Kurt's face in the cold morning light, sad and worried, so full of concern and so real, and then Kurt's voice, that unmistakable voice repeats again and again that he's here, he's back, he's not going anywhere. And Blaine wants to believe it _so much_. He wants it to be true, all of it. Can it be? Is it possible?

Kurt's hand, tender on his cheek, makes him focus on the beautiful eyes he loves so much.

"Blaine, I don't want us to break up, I love you so much it hurts, it can't be over. Do you really want it to be over?"

Face to face, drowning in Kurt's eyes, he can't lie or pretend. He's too drained to pretend anyway, he just wants someone to make it right. To make him feel safe and whole and real; take this weight off him. So he whispers the only absolute truth there is.

"No. Never. I love you."


	17. Chapter 17

17.

Blaine wants to cry, everything stuffed inside for months choking him, but he can't. He wants to let go, to stop trying, there's simply too much of everything; things and feelings and hate, pain and guilt. He's tried so hard to keep it all in that now he just can't stop, even though he wants to. Even his voice has trouble getting through, coming out strangled and raw. He needs something simple. Something real.

"Fuck me."

"What?" Kurt's eyes are huge, almost scared.

"I need you to fuck me. Please, Kurt. I _need_ –"

"But… but we haven't done this in so long. Maybe we should… take it slow?"

"Kurt." His voice is broken, a half-sob really. "Please. I need to feel you. I need to _feel_."

Kurt's eyes are sharp, inquisitive on his; Blaine feels as if he's looking into his very soul, measuring, searching… For what?

Whatever it is, he must have found it, understood it, because his face softens into this loving look that always warms Blaine to the core. Kurt smiles.

"Okay. All right, I… I'll take care of you. Just let me. Let go, just take. Let me in."

So Blaine does. For the first time in months he allows himself to let go of everything, not holding onto any of his masks and facades, not trying to fit into any mold or image. Just be. Maybe not even this. Just… feel.

* * *

><p>Kurt kisses him, all heat and passion; just lips first, his tongue gaining access and conquering, taking back what's always been his. His kisses are fierce, but never rough; the teeth on Blaine's neck, lips sucking hard on the clavicle, marking. It's not the usual gentle slide of Kurt's soft skin; this is just a notch harder; more pressure, touches with more nails and nipping with teeth, as if showing Kurt's <em>there<em>, as if reestablishing his rule and ownership, in the best way.

Their clothes come off under Kurt's attentive fingers, Blaine's skin being rediscovered again, every single inch of it, with hungry kisses and fervent touches. Kurt's breath over him is fast and shallow, interspersed with little moans when Blaine arches and shudders soundlessly, the bulge in Kurt's briefs hard and hot against Blaine's thigh. It's everything he needs now, just this, nothing but this. Kurt's hands are pulling down Blaine's pants and boxers in one go.

There's a gasp and a pause then, a wet hitching of Kurt's breath and even without opening his eyes Blaine knows why. The clusters of cuts on his thighs, some so very fresh, the skin around red and raised. That's it, he thinks. This is where Kurt realizes just _how _ fucked up Blaine is; where he says he can't do this. He dares to look, because he suddenly needs to see his fate in Kurt's eyes, in their color ever-changing like the sea. Will they be stormy grey now, or aqua green? Or maybe the gentle blue of forget-me-nots?

They're none of these, it turns out; it's all liquid silver as tears fill them, reflecting the cold winter light from the window. And when Kurt leans down, two tears drop, as if in slow-motion, on the marred flesh where they sting briefly, and Blaine gasps because he can _feel _it, down to the core. But the next instant Kurt's lips are right there instead, soothing, tracing the cuts so gently, each and every one of them and something in Blaine's chest lets go, some impossible knot unravels because _he's forgiven_.

Kurt's lips don't stop now, going up again, quick licks over Blaine's balls, tongue swiping up the shaft and he wants to moan and whimper and beg, but he can't, feeling mute and choked up, so he just lies there and takes in all the sensations. Kurt's mouth sinking down on him, deep and practiced, sucking hard, his tongue swirling around the head. Kurt's hand caressing and fondling his balls, sliding down without preamble and Blaine whimpers internally because they're never that fast about it, they take their time, but now, today, that's exactly what he needs and Kurt somehow knows.

A click of the lube bottle, hidden where it's always been and nearly unused since Kurt's departure, and then there are fingers against Blaine's entrance, slick and warm, sliding inside two at once. And it stings and burns so perfectly, the waves of sensations warming up Blaine's blood. Kurt makes a quick work of it, much quicker than ever before, sliding and stretching and crooking _right there_, and then there's the third finger, just a moment too soon and perfectly right, and then they're all gone, right as he feels _almost_ prepared, and Kurt is reaching to the drawer for a condom.

Something grows hot and daring in Blaine's chest then and the words are out before he can even realize what he's saying.

"No, Kurt… without? Please?"

There's just a bit of hesitation before Kurt asks, "You trust me that much?"

And it's never been an issue because _of course_ he trusts Kurt, so he just nods. Kurt breathes a deep, shaky breath. They've never done this before.

"Okay."

There's a squelchy sound from the lube bottle and the next instant Kurt's cock is against Blaine's entrance, pushing in slowly enough not to hurt too much, but not enough for it to be completely smooth; and the stretch, the pleasure-pain of being filled and taken is just what Blaine needed. It's hot and tightly fitting, and amazing with the feeling of skin instead of latex, everything just _more_ like this, and if Blaine could find his voice, he would keen and gasp, but he can't, not yet, so he arches and clenches his hands on Kurt's shoulders instead.

Kurt doesn't pause to let him get used to the feeling again after so many months, and Blaine's so grateful for this. Because with everything rolling and whirling and boiling inside, he needs more – more sensations, more to feel, more friction and pressure. So when Kurt sets a fast pace from the beginning, it's just what he wants – everything hard and deep and perfectly angled, and Kurt's hand working him in quick, fluid motions, and Blaine lets himself be swallowed by in, drowned in _feeling_, as if making up for all the time he'd lost, for everything else that he could have lost, but miraculously didn't. It coils tight and low in his belly, his balls, tighter and harder and hotter, yet still there's no sound in him, no way to release the pressure that's been building up for so long.

Kurt's voice is a growl in Blaine's ear as he pounds into him, his movements jerky and dominating.

"Let go, Blaine. I've got you, let go."

Everything clenches then, stronger than ever, painful, and then releases, tearing out from Blaine's throat in a long, raw cry as he's coming all over his stomach. Everything that was filling him with darkness and pain until there was no more room for hope, flows out now, leaving him empty and shaking and lost. But then Kurt moves in him again, slower now, gentle, and_ oh yes_, there he is. He's not alone. Kurt's got him, he'll catch him if Blaine falls again. And when Kurt's hips stutter seconds later, once, twice, Blaine can feel him spilling into him warm and _there_, all life and colors, and love.

* * *

><p>They lie down together afterwards, Blaine's face hidden on Kurt's chest as he cries, long and hard. Kurt's silent, just holding him, because he doesn't even have to tell him, Blaine knows now. He's there. He <em>will be<em> there. Blaine just needs to ask, to reach for his hand whenever he needs it.

He's already sore after the sex, more than ever before, more than after their first time even, and it's exactly what he wants, what he needs now. To be reminded that Kurt's got him, every time he moves. It's like an anchor that holds him down in a place of hope. And when he falls asleep, his last thought isn't _Maybe I won't wake up_. It's _Maybe when I wake up, I'll get a step closer to being better._

* * *

><p>It's four hours later when Blaine wakes up, feeling better and more like himself than he has in weeks. Before he can start to wonder, an arm slung over his waist tightens, pulling him closer against warm chest, and even without the melodious voice saying <em>Hi, sleeping beauty<em>, he would recognize Kurt by the way his own body immediately relaxes into the familiar one behind. So it wasn't a desperate dream then. His mind, so clear now, and his aching body only confirm that. Still, Blaine has to see, to make sure. Turning in the embrace, he lets out a relieved breath and _smiles_, a small, shaky smile that surprises even himself.

"Kurt."

"Hi. How do you feel?"

"Better. You're here." Awed, still disbelieving, Blaine realizes something. "Wait, how can you be here? You have classes and a job and…"

Kurt kisses his forehead softly and shakes his head.

"Don't worry about it. There are other things I'm more worried about now."

Kurt's eyes are full of concern, slightly red and puffy, and Blaine feels a bitter wave of shame rise in his throat.

"I know. I'm sorry, I –"

"Blaine, don't." Kurt's voice is firm but gentle, and Blaine dares to look up. "Please, don't. Let me take care of the man I love, that's what I came here for. I'm not judging you. I just want to understand so that I can think ways to help you. Can you tell me how long you've been cutting?"

The slightest waver on the last word, that's the only sign that Kurt feels upset or distressed, but Blaine can't look him in the eye as he answers, so he hides again, whispering against the soft skin of Kurt's chest, his boyfriend's arms tight and safe around him.

"The first time… it was after you left on Sunday. But I… hurt myself in other ways before."

He can hear Kurt's breathing hitch for a moment of silence before the next question comes.

"Does anyone know?"

Blaine shakes his head, wordless. Kurt's embrace tightens even more, reassuringly so.

"Has anyone realized that you're getting worse?"

Blaine shakes his head again, not even trying to deny – he _has_ been getting steadily worse; he knows that. He feels Kurt's chest expand as he sighs deeply, then a gentle hand strokes his cheek and makes him raise his head to be face to face with Kurt. Suddenly, he's afraid of what he's going to hear.

"Blaine, I love you so very much, you know that, right?" He nods. "I have to ask you for something that may be really hard for you. I promise I will be right here by your side all along, but I can't help you by myself, I don't know how. You need more; you have to tell your mom and your therapist. Today. About the cutting, about how you really feel, everything."

He can't, no, no _way_. His whole body starts to shake violently just from thinking about it. To admit to the whole world how much _more_ of a screw-up he really is? No!

But Kurt is holding him firmly, his hand soothing on his back, his voice whispering _I love you_ and _We'll get through this together_ as Blaine shakes and sobs until there are no more tears and no energy to keep fighting it. Because honestly, he knows. He can't do this without help; he's in too deep, too lost. But he's so afraid, terrified really; not sure if he'll be able to get through this.

But then Kurt, _his_ Kurt, kisses him softly on the lips and Blaine nods because _yes_, he'll do it, he has to. Kurt smiles, visibly relieved.

"I'm so proud of you, Blaine. You have no idea how proud. Come on now, we need to get dressed, get something to eat and go. I'll drive you to therapy, okay? You're too shaken to drive."

"Will you come in with me?"

"Do you want me to?"

"Yes. Please." He can't do it alone.

"Then I will."


	18. Chapter 18

18.

Kurt is so angry at himself he kind of wishes he could kick himself in the ass – hard. How could he have been so stupid? He was right here, he saw the changes in Blaine, he could have done something almost a week ago, instead of getting defensive and anxious and avoiding the topic. Does he really trust Blaine that little that he doubted his feelings at the first sign of trouble? Stupid, stupid, _so stupid_.

But self-flagellation won't help now, there's no use thinking about what could have been. He's here now, he finally knows what has been happening – now he just has to do everything in his power to help Blaine, make it easier for him.

Kurt watched a documentary about cutting once, so he knows it's not going to be easy for his boyfriend. And there's really not much he can _do_ to help – he'll be there, he'll love and support him, always, no matter what; but the actual battle is Blaine's to fight. Thankfully, he hasn't been hurting himself long, so at least that's something. For the tenth time today, Kurt thanks whichever non-existing deity that inspired him to arrange everything in New York the way he did and come back as soon as physically possible. Every additional day could have been worse.

Blaine is quiet as they drive to the therapy center and sit in the cozy waiting room. When he is called in, Kurt doesn't even have to ask if he really wants him there – the way his boyfriend's hand clutches his, almost painfully tight as he gets up, is answer enough. So they enter the room together, Blaine literally leaning on him for support.

The next hour is pure torture – seeing his beautiful, strong, perfect boyfriend fall apart as he confesses his crimes against himself; listening to him beat himself up with so much self-hatred that it burns like acid. But Kurt sits there unflinching, holding Blaine tightly and surely, even though tears flow from his eyes – because no matter how much it hurts _him_ to see and hear this, it must have hurt Blaine so much more to actually live through all he's describing.

By the end of the session Blaine's voice is hoarse, barely audible, and he's visibly drained. Finally the therapist stops asking questions and taps her notebook with a pen for a minute before she speaks.

"Blaine, now that I have the full picture of what's been going on, it's clear to me that we have to get you on medication immediately. You are _severely_ depressed, and the recent self-harming behavior is a risk we can't take. I also think that you should be admitted back to the hospital for two, maybe three weeks, to be monitored until the medication kicks in properly."

Blaine tenses by Kurt's side on a couch, his eyes wide and panicky.

"No! I don't want to go back there."

Kurt strokes his back soothingly, muscles stiff and trembling under his palm, and looks up at the woman.

"Is it really necessary?"

"Well, the first period of taking this kind of medication can be unpredictable, especially with teenagers – there may be days when Blaine will feel worse, the urges may get stronger, even suicidal thoughts may appear. He will need monitoring, someone to be with him at all times, to help and react quickly if anything like this should happen. And since I know that Blaine's parents are often absent, I can't risk letting him go home where he would be alone."

Kurt nods; it's understandable.

"What if I were there with him? All the time for those two or three weeks? I'm sure his parents won't mind if they can't be there themselves."

The therapist looks at him appraisingly.

"Kurt, it's really brave of you, but do you have time to really be there _non-stop_, day and night? Besides, have you ever taken such a responsibility upon yourself? Taking care of another person for weeks without a break is a hard, mentally exhausting job. You're young –"

"I've taken care of my dad, by myself, after he had a heart attack two years ago. I will manage. And I have all the time Blaine needs."

She thinks for a moment before nodding.

"All right then. We can try this. But I want you to have my emergency number on speed dial and call me if anything out of the ordinary happens. And Blaine, I expect daily phone calls with reports on how you are feeling, in addition to our sessions. The hospital is not out of the picture yet, I need you boys to understand it – it may become necessary at some point, to ensure Blaine's safety." Kurt nods and Blaine relaxes instantly, slumping against his side with relief. "One more thing. Blaine, I have to call your mom to make sure she's okay with this arrangement. How much do you want me to tell her? Don't get me wrong, she should know _all_ of this, about your self-harming in particular, but you can tell her yourself, if you prefer."

Blaine's face is hidden on Kurt's shoulder at this point, his voice muffled.

"No. Tell her, please. I don't think I'll be able to do it."

* * *

><p>Blaine's mom is already home when they come back after a short detour to the pharmacy to fill the prescription. Blaine groans quietly when they see her car on the driveway.<p>

"Kuuuurt. I can't deal with more of this tonight."

He sounds weak and tired, and Kurt wants nothing more than to take him straight to bed and hold him safely through the night, to let him rest. But they have to talk to Blaine's mom – and they have to talk to her now, before he takes the first pill. So he turns to cup Blaine's cheek and kiss him gently on the lips.

"Honey, you're doing great, I am so proud of you. I know you must be exhausted, but we have to do this one thing, just have this one conversation, and then we'll go to bed and cuddle, and you will sleep however long you want, okay? And when you wake up, I'll be right there with you. Come on, let's get this over with."

Blaine nods and stumbles out of the car, and hand in hand, they go inside and into the well-lit kitchen. One look is enough to know that the therapist has already called. Mrs. Anderson is sitting by the table, her face hidden in her hands, but she shoots up immediately when they come in. Her face is wet, eyes red and puffy as she closes the distance between them in quick strides and pulls Blaine into tight embrace, smoothing his curls and repeating "My baby, my dear, dear baby."

Eventually, Kurt is the one who does all the talking, relating the therapist's words to Mrs. Anderson and assuring her that he will gladly stay however long he's needed. Blaine, after uncovering his arm to show the cuts with his eyes set down in shame, rests his head heavily on his mom's shoulder, utterly drained. Mrs. Anderson cries, blaming herself for not noticing, for having a job that makes her too busy and absent from her son's life. She can't even take a leave now because she's the head organizer of a huge international conference in Boston and no one knows enough to fill in for her. Kurt knows she loves that job though and besides, he doesn't mind staying with his boyfriend, he wouldn't mind doing much more than that, _anything_ really – his own guilt burning in his throat, pushing him to do anything he can to redeem himself, in his own eyes if no one else's.

Blaine whines softly when the talk gets too long – it may only be past seven, but he looks about ready to collapse – so Kurt takes out the pills and hands him one, along with a glass of water, before they say goodnight and retreat to the bedroom. Before they leave the kitchen, Blaine's mom hugs him tightly.

"Thank you, Kurt. If it wasn't for you, I can't even… I– Just, thank you."

Helping his boyfriend into his PJs and settling into bed with him feels nice, no matter what reasons brought them back together like this. Blaine falls asleep immediately, clutching at Kurt tightly, as if afraid he disappears during the night, but for a long time, he's the only one sleeping.

Kurt lies there for hours, listening to Blaine's deep, regular breathing, and for the first time since he got here this morning he lets himself think about his own emotions and fears. It was a long, terrifying day, a day that changed so much and set new challenges before them. Kurt is certain that with their love and care for each other, they will get through it, but it doesn't make him any less afraid. For Blaine, for their relationship, and yes, for himself too. Because tomorrow, while Mrs. Anderson stays with Blaine, Kurt will go home to tell his family. And it's not something he's looking forward to. They won't be thrilled.

After all, hearing that your son is taking a year-long break from college because his boyfriend needs him is not the best news any parents may expect.


	19. Chapter 19

19.

It doesn't go too well.

"What do you mean you're taking a year off? Just like that, without even discussing it with us? And mere months after you started, too? I thought this school was your dream!"

Burt is pacing the kitchen, agitated and upset. Carole sits quietly by the table, listening. Kurt called before he set off – after all, he doesn't want to give his dad another heart attack, just appearing on their doorstep when everyone thought he was in New York. He only said he flew back because there was an emergency concerning Blaine, no details, so they were understandably worried when he arrived. Right now, his dad is more angry than anything though. Kurt tried to prepare himself for that, but he feels guilty nonetheless. His voice comes out pleading as he answers.

"It was; it still is. And I didn't drop out or anything; I'm just postponing it. Dad, I spoke to the dean. He considered the situation and the fact that I've already proven to be a talented and dedicated student. He agreed to let me take the break, even though it's quite unusual in freshmen year. My place is waiting for me next year, though I'll have to retake all of the classes I've been attending so far. But Blaine needs me here." Burt grumbles something unintelligible and Kurt frowns. "What?"

"Nothing, just… Sacrificing your education for a boyfriend isn't a smart move, Kurt." His dad is trying not to sound irritated, and failing. "I'm wondering if Blaine isn't maybe… exaggerating. To get you back here."

Kurt gasps.

"Do you even _know_ Blaine, dad? No, he isn't exaggerating. He tried to hide it from me and everyone else; in fact, he even went as far as trying to break up with me because he didn't want to be a burden. So yeah, it was _clearly _a ruse to get me to come back. As was his getting so severely depressed that he started cutting and is on meds now." His phone buzzes then and he pulls it out immediately – he told Blaine to text him any time he needed. "Excuse me, I must check this."

The message is indeed from Blaine; Kurt frowns as he opens it.

_Kurt, are you coming soon?_

The phone vibrates in his hand, another text coming.

_Kurt please I need you_

He presses the call button immediately; Blaine sounds scared and on edge as he answers.

"Blaine, baby, what's going on? Where's your mom?"

"Downstairs, I came up to my room. I don't know what's going on, I feel strange, numb, like… Like I'm not here, and I'm itching to do something, to try and feel and…"

Kurt heard enough during Blaine's therapy yesterday to know what that means. He presses the phone closer to his ear.

"Blaine, are you in your bathroom now?"

There's a moment of silence, then a quiet "…Not yet."

"Good. Listen to me, baby. I want you to go find your mom right now, and tell her you need something to get busy. Anything. Okay? I want to hear you go and tell her."

Blaine agrees reluctantly and Kurt listens to his door being opened and closed, his footsteps on the stairs, then the conversation with Mrs. Anderson. He speaks into the phone.

"Blaine, I'm on my way, I'll be there as soon as I can. Please don't leave your mom's side, okay? I love you, you're doing good, baby."

Disconnecting, Kurt's already up and on his way to the door. His dad is looking at him with a worried expression.

"I have to go. I know you don't agree with my decision, dad, and I'm sorry, but it's my life and this is what I feel I need to do now."

"Kurt, wait! So you're staying at Blaine's house now?"

"Yes, for two, maybe three weeks, until his meds start working. He shouldn't be alone and his mom can't take leave right now. And he feels safest with me anyway. Dad, I need to go."

"Kurt –"

"I'm sorry. I love you."

Seconds later, Kurt's back in Blaine's car and speeding towards the Andersons' house.

* * *

><p>The rest of the day is hard. Blaine is edgy and restless, can't sit still or focus on anything, says he feels like everything is unreal, like he's floating away. He's dizzy, too, and by the evening he's starting to panic with all the strange, unfamiliar sensations. They call his therapist, who says that it's normal and the worst of it should pass within days, a week maybe. Blaine looks like he wants to die when he hears that and Kurt desperately looks for some way to ease the discomfort for him.<p>

They go to bed early again, but neither of them is sleepy yet, and while Kurt is definitely not one of the people who believe that sex is the answer to everything, he decides to try something. Grabbing baby oil from his bag (sometimes you don't have time for a full body lotion routine and baby oil on wet skin has to suffice, all right?), he moves back to the bed. A moment later Blaine's t-shirt is off and Kurt is touching and kissing generously all over the warm olive skin. He doesn't know if it can help his boyfriend feel more _here_, more _real _again, but he has to try whatever he can. And what he can do is touch – sliding his palms over Blaine's back, dragging fingers over muscles, massaging and tickling lightly, all the while talking to Blaine, reminding him of their special moments and important days; silly dates and earnest discussions; laughing and crying together, and planning their future. He can feel Blaine relax under his touch, focus on his monologue until finally he joins in with his own memories, even laughs a couple of times. Then, suddenly, his face goes somber and tense again.

"Kurt… You still haven't told me. What about your school? When do you have to go back?"

Kurt doesn't stop his ministrations as he smiles lovingly at the beautiful boy beneath him.

"Not until September. We'll go together; until then I'm back here with you." The tears that suddenly fill Blaine's amber eyes are a surprise, as is the expression of complete misery on his face. "What? Blaine, what happened? It's a good thing, and don't worry, I didn't drop out, there's still a place for me next year. Blaine!"

He lays down by his boyfriend's side and gathers him to his chest, shocked and a little scared. He doesn't understand – Blaine's back shakes with violent sobs and Kurt's t-shirt is soaked with tears within minutes. It's not until a long while later that he finds out the reason.

"Kurt, I… I didn't apply to any New York colleges. I only sent an application to Ohio State, and only because I had to pretend I was actually going to college, while honestly, I wasn't planning to, not really."

Wow. That _is_ a blow.

"But _why_? Don't you want to go to New York anymore? To live together, be free to not hide anymore, to maybe get married one day if we wanted to –" Kurt knows he blushes at that but he doesn't care. "Make our lives there, our careers –"

"No!" Blaine scrambles to sit up and only then Kurt realizes that he's kneeling and a foot away. How did this happen? "No, Kurt, please don't think that. I just stopped believing I can do this, you know? That I deserve to get there, that I could succeed in college, not to mention in any of my dream jobs. So I just… gave up."

Kurt moves back to Blaine's side, frantic, his mind already working, counting, planning.

"Of course you will succeed, you are amazing, it's only the depression talking. I believe in you, Blaine; even if you don't believe in yourself now, I believe enough for both of us. There's still a little time to send the applications; not much, mere days, but we'll manage. I'll help you if you need it. I won't let you give up on your dream – our dream. If it's still your dream, that is."

Blaine clutches Kurt's hands tightly, tears still clinging to his long eyelashes.

"It is, so much; it just seems so unattainable right now…"

"We'll make it happen, Blaine. We will go to New York next year, together, I promise."


	20. Chapter 20

**Trigger warning**: Panic attack

* * *

><p>20.<p>

Sunday morning isn't bad; there are even moments when it feels wonderful. They're in no hurry, so there's cuddling in bed with Blaine and talking for over an hour before finally getting up; making breakfast together and the feeling of warm domesticity it gives them; sitting with their coffee in the quiet kitchen filled with cold winter sun. It feels good, peaceful.

The day gets even better when Kurt's dad calls around noon, and his words finally silence the fear and regret that have been fluttering in Kurt's heart since their conversation yesterday – feelings that appear every time they argue, ever since Burt's heart attack; that they may not get a chance to say _I'm sorry, I love you_.

The voice on the phone sounds apologetic.

"Kurt, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that about Blaine. I know he's not the kind of boy, I was just… taken by surprise I guess, and disappointed. I'm still disappointed, and let me tell you why: I've known way too many people who took a year off college and never went back. They started working, earning money, starting families, and suddenly there was no time for college anymore, there were more important things to do. And I don't want this for you, Kurt. You fought to get where you are, you deserve to enjoy it, to have a few more years where you can focus on yourself, finding out who you are and where you want to go, and not on the hard stuff."

Kurt's eyes tear up.

"I know, dad, but I won't drop out. I promise I won't, I'll just work somewhere until August, maybe in the garage if you let me; I'll earn some money, spend more time with you, and then I'm off again. I just _have to_, dad –"

"I know. You have to help Blaine; you love him. I get it. And it _is _your decision. So how is he?"

"Up and down. It's hard for him."

"Take care of him. And call me tomorrow, okay? I'd like to know how you are, both of you."

Kurt's heart feels considerably lighter after the conversation and everything seems brighter, more hopeful. Not for long though. The horror begins in the early afternoon.

* * *

><p>They are sitting in the living room, Blaine's mom away at the office for a couple of hours, when suddenly Blaine stiffens. He looks scared, eyes wide and unfocused, breathing fast, shallow; Kurt gets to his side immediately.<p>

"Blaine, what's going on?"

"I… I don't know, I feel weird. Something's wrong."

Within seconds Blaine's hands begin to shake violently. He's white as a sheet by then, curled in on himself in the corner of the sofa, his breathing coming in desperate gasps. By the time Kurt chooses his therapist's emergency number, Blaine is pressing a hand to his chest, panic in his eyes growing by the second and his other hand clawing at the collar of his shirt, as if it chokes him.

Kurt has never been so thankful for anyone answering their phone on the first ring. He describes everything to the woman, trying to make sense as he stumbles over words in his hurry and fear. Blaine is sweating profusely now and looking so scared Kurt's heart breaks. He has no idea what to do, especially since Blaine doesn't want him close this time, pushing him away weakly and shaking his head when he tries to comfort him somehow or even try to learn any details about what's going on.

The therapist seems calm – _how can she sound so calm now?_ – when Kurt finishes describing Blaine's symptoms.

"Okay, I know it looks scary, and it feels _really_ scary to Blaine, but it's just a panic attack. He'll be fine, but you need to help him calm down. Give him something cold to drink in little sips. Open a window for a while, let him breathe cold air. Speak calmly – you need to believe me or he won't believe you. It _is_ a panic attack, it happens sometimes as the brain gets used to medication. You have to convince Blaine that he's not suffocating or having a heart attack, because that's what he's probably feeling like. Talk to him, calm him down. Don't make him feel crowded. If you have chamomile tea, make him some when he's a little better. He may be exhausted when it passes, physically and mentally, and there will probably be more attacks like that. I'll call in a prescription for an anti-anxiety medication first thing tomorrow morning, to take only when it's getting really bad. And come with him to therapy tomorrow, please. Now go, take care of him."

Kurt does his best, pushing away his own fear and clinging desperately to the therapist's words. _It's just a panic attack; it will pass_. He does what he was told and slowly, gradually, it works. Ten minutes later Blaine is lying on the sofa, considerably calmer, but looking completely drained, tears flowing silently from his eyes. Kurt is kneeling on the floor by his head, holding his hand. He can still feel adrenaline coursing in his veins and if he'd had any doubts that it wouldn't be easy, they'd be definitely gone now. But they'll survive. He is strong. Strong enough to hold Blaine up until he finds his own strength again.

Blaine has two more attacks in the evening, and even though they already know what they are and that they will pass, it doesn't make them easier, not really. The sharp, primal _fear_ in Blaine's eyes, his face contorted as he focuses on controlling his mind instead of letting it control him, is one of the most painful sights Kurt has ever seen. The quiet whimpers that escape Blaine's throat at one point dig into Kurt like claws. He can't help his boyfriend, can't take the suffering on himself, no matter how gladly he'd do it.

By the time they go to bed, they're both exhausted and silent, but night doesn't bring relief this time. It takes Blaine hours to drift off to sleep – hours of Kurt's faithful vigil – and even then he wakes up after two hours, only to fight the sudden insomnia again. Dawn finds them lying there, spooning, with Kurt singing soft lullabies until they both fall asleep for another painfully short moment.


	21. Chapter 21

21.

It doesn't get much easier after this weekend, even though the therapist assures them that the side effects like insomnia and anxiety should slowly taper off. At least there are hours when Blaine feels fine apart from this numb, unreal feeling that he has pretty much constantly now. They try to make the most of them, preparing Blaine's applications and essays for the New York schools. It's hard to convey Blaine's normal charismatic, bubbly personality in his essays when he is like this, but it's better than nothing and with Kurt's support and encouragement, the applications are ready and sent out by Thursday.

But this semblance of normalcy only lasts a few hours, here and there. More often than not, it's bad. Or really, _really_ bad, depending on the day. Sometimes Blaine's just restless and dizzy, irritated about his mouth feeling dry all the time, about being unable to sleep more than two or three hours at a time and everything feeling distant and unreal. Sometimes it's the anxiety again, occasionally landsliding into panic attacks; the new pills help then, but they make Blaine exhausted and groggy without actually helping him sleep, so he only takes them when it's really bad.

And then there are the hours, blessedly rare, when Blaine's fingers brutally claw at his skin, his teeth dig into his lips, drawing blood before he even realizes what he's doing.

The second time this happens, Kurt makes Blaine promise to tell him when he starts feeling this urge so that they could try to take care of it in a different manner. If it helped the day Kurt came back, it could help again, right? Not that he believes in sex as some sort of fix, and he'd rather do it in a slow, worshipping way when Blaine feels better – but he's willing to do anything to help, and if Blaine needs rough sex, he'll give it to him. Hopefully the urges to hurt himself will disappear soon and they'll be able to rediscover the tender sides of intimacy.

So the next time Blaine feels like cutting or shredding his skin open with his fingernails, uncovering the raw reality of pain and blood, they fuck instead. Not make love, no matter how much doing this with Blaine always feels like pure love to Kurt – no, it's fucking this time, fast and rough, with hardly any preparation, with Blaine begging _harder Kurt, please, harder, make me ache_, and Kurt crying silently even as he complies, because hurting Blaine is something he'd never wanted to do, ever.

And for a moment, it seems to help – Kurt can feel the unbearable tension unwind from Blaine's muscles, making him relaxed and pliant, lost in the rhythm and flow of their bodies – but it's short-lived. Soon Blaine is thrashing and whimpering on the brink of his orgasm, then arching, keening, and… Nothing happens. Kurt does his best to last, pounding into the beautiful, eager body under him at just the right angle, jerking Blaine off exactly the way he likes best, but he's not made of steel and soon he's coming, all too aware of Blaine's impatient, almost pained moans. Not even waiting for his mind to clear, Kurt pulls out and slides down Blaine's body to suck him off, his fingers sliding into the still open, slick hole and quickly finding the magic spot. But minutes pass and Blaine's cries turn into sobs until he pushes Kurt away with shaking hands and curls into a fetal position, unable to stop desperate tears from flowing, choking out between his sobs.

"Kurt, just… please, go, I can't… I can't even… oh god…"

Kurt gives him space, but doesn't leave the room except for a short clean-up in the bathroom. He sits down by the desk instead, reading through the leaflet that came with Blaine's meds. Sure, there it is, under common side effects – _ejaculation problems: delayed ejaculation or inability to ejaculate_. Nothing to worry about then, medically. Except he can imagine how Blaine must feel now; he cringes just thinking about it.

Blaine has gone quiet and still, hidden under the duvet so that only his unruly curls stick out, and Kurt makes a quick detour to the bathroom before crawling back to the bed with a soft, warm washcloth. Kissing the perfect curve of Blaine's shoulder, he whispers.

"Hey, let me clean you up a little." Blaine tenses under his touch, his voice muffled by the pillow that hides his face.

"No, Kurt… I can't, I just… I feel so _humiliated_. You should just _leave_ me, I keep getting more and more useless. If I can't even do _this_ now… What would you need me for?"

Kurt lies down to mold his body against Blaine's back and answers simply.

"I need you for my world to be whole, Blaine. Without you, it never will."

He pulls on Blaine's arm, gentle, but insistent, not taking no for an answer. Finally his boyfriend gives up, rolling to his stomach and letting Kurt clean him up; gently he wipes away all the lube and come residue. It hurts Kurt to even look at the raw, abused flesh and know that _he_ did this to Blaine, but he bites his lip to keep from crying again. He won't add his own emotions into the mix here.

Blaine's voice breaks roughly when he finally speaks.

"But look, I'm really turning into more and more of a failure. If I can't even so much as _come_?"

"It's a side effect of your meds."

"Maybe I should just stop taking them if they make me worse instead of better."

Kurt drops the cloth to the floor and pulls Blaine back into his arms.

"Or maybe you should wait until they start working properly. And in the meantime… remember how much fun it was to make out for hours without letting ourselves come? Or explore and discover each other bit by bit? I miss those days sometimes; I'll gladly go back to that for awhile. We have our whole lives for sex."

Blaine's smile doesn't reach his eyes, but he doesn't pull away.

_It's always darkest just before dawn,_ Kurt keeps reminding himself. He just hopes the dawn will come before the darkness swallows Blaine completely.


	22. Chapter 22

22.

By next Saturday they are both pretty much used to the ebb and flow of Blaine's moods and symptoms, and no longer so afraid of them. They've been cooped up in the Andersons' house since Kurt arrived because Blaine's felt either too tired or too anxious to get out – except for the therapy sessions – or have friends over. And since his parents are constantly busy, they've been there mostly by themselves. Which has been really nice after spending such a long time away from each other, but sometimes opening your mouth to someone else is a welcome change.

So when Kurt's dad invites them to spend the next week at the Hummel house, Kurt secretly sighs with relief and Blaine admits that it feels like a much nicer prospect than sitting in the big empty house by themselves. Kurt misses his family, of course, but it's not just that. In a situation like theirs there are things more alluring than the opportunity to have sex whenever and wherever they want (and not just because Blaine _doesn't_ want it at all now). Things like the safety of having two caring adults by their side if anything happens, or even the chance for more human interaction. Not to mention, Kurt really starts to feel the strain of all the stress and lack of sleep now. Not being the only one there for Blaine would surely ease the weight of responsibility a little.

They drive to Lima on Sunday morning, right after Mrs. Anderson departs for her conference week, and by lunchtime Kurt already knows it was the best decision possible. His dad and Carole don't hesitate to engage them both in family activities right away, and soon Kurt is helping Carole with dinner preparations and Blaine's in the den, watching a game with Burt and Finn. Blaine's excited voice and laughter as he comments about something on screen is something Kurt hasn't heard for a long time. His eyes sting momentarily and he has to pause what he's doing to just stand and listen, like it's the most beautiful music.

In spite of Kurt's worries, their sleeping together isn't an issue at all, and that night, before they fall asleep, they take turns remembering all their favorite moments spent in his room from the very beginning, when they were still just friends. The night afterwards is still bad, with Blaine waking up all the time, tossing and turning and irritated by his insomnia, but even that is easier somehow.

Tina comes by the next afternoon, with tons of photocopied class notes for Blaine, and a new schedule is born. Every day they stay in bed until ten or even eleven, to make up for the nights of intermittent sleep. Around noon, after late breakfast, they sit down to the school books that Blaine brought back from home, going through material that he's missed since his hospital stay. Kurt helps sometimes, but mostly just keeps Blaine company, to motivate him and keep him on track. Frankly, he's amazed with how fast his boyfriend is going through the stacks of papers; he's always known Blaine to be a quick learner, but has never had a chance to just sit back and watch him study, like he does now.

They spend evenings with Kurt's family, only occasionally retreating to the quiet privacy of his room if Blaine gets anxious and needs some space. It doesn't happen often, however – it feels like having more to do, more company and distractions from his own thoughts helps Blaine tremendously. He smiles and talks, and even though he says the numb feeling is still there all the time, he seems much less tense and lost than days ago. Kurt feels like the boy he loves is finally, slowly, coming back to him – and to himself.

* * *

><p>On Friday morning Blaine wakes up and stretches lazily. The house is quiet; outside, snow is falling silently, large, fat snowflakes dancing slowly in the wind. Inside, under the soft duvet, it's warm and safe; there's a body pressed firmly to Blaine's back, an arm slung loosely over his waist – Kurt; breathing softly against the nape of his neck. It feels perfect, one of those moments that make you stop and just experience it, trying to memorize every little detail.<p>

It takes a moment to register, but when he does, a smile spreads slowly on Blaine's face. He just woke up and _felt good_. Without the anxiety, the immediate rush of thoughts and emotions or the dreadful unreal feeling, just… normal. What's more, he slept right through the night, not waking up once. Such a small thing, but it feels like such a huge achievement. He can't remember when he'd last had a good night's sleep.

He turns in Kurt's embrace – carefully, trying not to wake him, but it's no good; after so many nights guarding Blaine's dreams, Kurt's perfectly attuned to react to his body language. His eyes are open, alert by the time Blaine faces him; he knows that look – Kurt's trying to assess his mood, state of his mind, whatever. But it's not his eyes, no matter how beautiful they are, that capture Blaine's attention now; it's Kurt's lips – pink and inviting, looking so impossibly soft and sweet that he can't resist.

The kiss is a surprise – certainly to Kurt, who's interrupted in the middle of his _Hi baby, how do you feel?_, but to Blaine as well. Not because he kissed Kurt, that's no surprise, but because of how it feels. They've been kissing daily these past two weeks, even though they hardly went any further than that, but this… This is the kind of kiss he remembers from before Kurt went away – the kind that leaves them both breathless and shivering with the sheer amount of stimuli and feelings. Blaine's lips tingle now, arousal sparkling under his skin, spreading and multiplying, teasing a little moan out of him. Kurt's tongue ghosts shyly over his upper lip and Blaine deepens the kiss, conquering and rediscovering each and every little spot that he used to know by heart, Kurt whimpering softly into his mouth.

When he finally pulls away, Kurt's eyes are wide and bright, and Blaine reaches to cup his cheek and swipe his thumb softly over the kiss-stained lips.

"You feel so good."


	23. Epilogue

**A/N: **_That's it; the end of a long, tough journey. Thank you for reading, for letting this story move you, for commenting. I'm sorry if I didn't answer your comments – sometimes it's a choice between spending the small window of free time responding to them or writing some more. Writing usually wins. So each and every sentence of any of my stories is one big thank you for all of you, my readers – for being the best motivation ever and helping me believe in myself enough to always keep writing. Thank you._

* * *

><p>EPILOGUE<p>

Blaine would love to be able to say that it gets easy after that, but it doesn't work that way. It's still a battle, every single moment a fight to get better. There are days when he feels so numb he wants to scratch at his skin to get to the real, feeling person underneath; there are hours upon hours of therapy – by himself, with his parents, with Kurt – many of which end in tears. There are nights when he can't sleep and Kurt's no longer there all the time to soothe and cuddle him; and moments when he feels so exhausted he just wants to give up. There's still anxiety and occasional panic attacks, even though these are a rarity now. It's not easy.

But there are more moments like that now – moments when he feels himself, and it's enough to give him hope; strength to keep fighting. After the meds kick in for good, these moments become longer and more frequent, until he remembers what it's like to be motivated, energetic; to be happy. And there are days that make it all so worth it; worth the fight, the pain, the exhaustion.

Christmas spent partly at Kurt's house, and partly with his parents who at least _try_ to be there for him, for real.

New Year's with friends from school and some of the old New Directions crowd, and kissing Kurt at midnight under the clear starry sky.

Returning to school and Glee, and remembering why he loved performing.

Realizing that somehow, somewhere, the good days became more frequent than the bad ones.

The afternoons spent with Kurt in the garage or in his house, and their sleepovers once or twice a week.

The pride on everyone's faces when the acceptance letter from NYU comes.

The afternoon, weeks later in the empty house, when they get carried away and end up naked, pressed against each other in a frantic rhythm of stuttering hips until they both come and it feels like the first time all over again.

And that moment when they stand, hand in hand, on the doorstep of their first apartment in New York, ready to make that one step into their bright future, together.

It may still be a fight, sometimes. There may be bad moments, bad days, more therapy, meds for months and months before he'll be able to live without them – but it's worth it. It will always be worth it, no matter what.

THE END


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